


10 Things I Hate About Christmas

by lecroixss



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bondage, D/s, Dildos, Dom/sub, Drinking, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Food Sex, Holidays, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, NSFW, Oral Sex, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sex Tape, Sex Tapes, Stucky - Freeform, Subspace, Table Sex, Temperature Play, Vibrators, Winter, in final edit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-09 04:17:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8875597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecroixss/pseuds/lecroixss
Summary: Bucky is a grump and hates Christmas. Steve sets out to change his mind. With sex.This is a completely shameless series of smutty, vaguely-holiday themed fics, each revolving around some element of the season. Please be sure to read the tags! Pure crack. Title taken from the movie "10 Things I Hate About You."





	1. Eggnog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Possible chapter warning:** Some people might consider this one dubcon since both parties are under the influence. I didn't tag it since I don't personally consider it as such given the circumstances, but I'm aware that not everyone will agree with me.
> 
> I own nothing, least of all the Marvel characters of universe. Trust me: if I did, not a comic would go by without someone at _least_ groping someone else.

“Just try it,” Steve wheedles.

“No.” Bucky’s expression is obstinate.

“How do you know you hate it if you’ve never tried it?” Steve reasons.

“Wow, mother hen much?” Clint flops into an empty armchair nearby without dislodging so much as a single kernel of the bowl of popcorn in his arms. “Are you going to tell him that he won’t grow up big and strong next?”

Steve frowns at the archer. While most of the Avengers didn’t normally celebrate the holidays, Thor’s presence this year prompted them to go all-out; it was either that or be the one to tell him that there wouldn’t be ‘lights like a million stars,’ or ‘trees gloriously attired,’ or ‘true Midgardian feasting.’ No one wanted to be the cause of Thor’s kicked-puppy look, so they’d set up a list that JARVIS helped them compile based on the Asgardian’s reading history. After some initial griping about not getting to throw a giant Christmas party replete with skimpy Santa-clad models (Ow, Pepper, that hurt!), Tony had thrown himself into the spirit whole-heartedly. He already had the Tower sign fitted with a snowflake like a giant crown, and the color slowly shifted from the default red to white to green and back again. Anyone on the ground floor was assaulted by the scent of cookies and hot chocolate, both constantly stocked in the lobby and via artificial scent pumped into the air courtesy of JARVIS.

The only hitch is that Bucky is decidedly _not_ feeling the Christmas cheer. He’s practically the spiritual successor of Ebenezer Scrooge—given everything else they’ve witnessed thus far, Steve wouldn’t be surprised if the Ghost of Christmas Past wandered through the wall one night.

The thing is, Steve can’t recall Bucky ever hating the holiday. Sure, it was cold, which got expensive what with the heating and climbing price on food. And Steve took ill more often than not, spending most of his days coughing, wheezing, feverish, chilled, or any combination thereof. But the memories Steve has are all fond ones, like seeing the Macy’s displays, making gifts for everyone, wrapping himself close to Bucky to share warmth… In every single memory (minus the ones where Steve is sick), Bucky is smiling. So this grumpiness is a new development.

But that’s okay because Steve is going to cheer the _hell_ out of Bucky Barnes. He just has to go about it slowly.

Today, it’s eggnog. They made a huge, homemade batch from a recipe Clint dug up and planned to drink it while watching TV on the communal floor. Only Bucky won’t take a damn drink.

“We had eggnog growing up, Steve,” Bucky insists. “Didn’t care for it then and sure as hell don’t now.”

“You had it _once!_ ”

“Yeah. Once is enough to know I don’t like it.”

“One time _seventy years_ ago, Buck!”

The others Avengers are already drifting in, meaning the two supersoldiers now have an audience. Natasha sets down one bowl of the steaming drink and Thor arrives a moment later with a second one. The two of them start ladling and distributing glasses.

Wrestling down his urge to keep bickering like children, Steve rapidly switches tactics. “Please? I helped make it. Just the one toast, at least.”

Bucky grudgingly relents, taking a glass from Thor as the god hefts his own generous portion in the air. “To good friends!”

The sentiment echoes through the room and there’s a long silence while everyone takes a sip. Even though he helped make it, Steve has a few lingering doubts. They’d done the first batch wrong and the milk had curdled. The second one had felt _grainy_ , which by no means made any sense. The ones being served are technically the third and fourth. When no one spits out their drink or even pulls a face, Steve assumes it’s fine.

Actually, this is much better than before. Eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline, he regards his drink. It didn’t taste quite like this when he last tried it, but then again he hadn’t been the one to serve…

“Rum,” Natasha replies to Steve’s searching gaze. “Adds flavor.”

“And fun!” Tony interjects helpfully. It would probably cause a scandal somewhere to find Captain America drinking alcohol, but for one, it doesn’t affect him anymore, and for another, even Bruce, the most straight-laced of them, is quietly indulging in a glass.

“Maybe it’s the rum, but this is better than I remember.” Bucky looks like the admission hurts him a little, but he _does_ keep drinking. Steve silently pats himself on the back: First win of the season.

Somehow, watching television turns into complaining about commercials, which turns into talking _about_ commercials, which somehow leads to a video of a _French_ commercial… By the time Steve is a few glasses in, they’re watching weird Japanese commercials and trying to follow the plotline of a white talking dog.

Bucky drapes across Steve’s lap, face smooshed into the crook of the blond’s arm. It’s very distracting, given the way Bucky keeps turning his head to nibble at the sensitive flesh there. In return, Steve’s deep, rumbling laugh tickles so much that Bucky can feel it in his _teeth_ , which keeps setting him off into giggles.

“Stop squirming!” Steve clamps his other arm down on Bucky’s middle, trying to hold him still.

“Stop laughing!” That just sets the blond off again, laughing harder than ever. Bucky flails. Neither of them notice the sidelong glances of their teammates.

“Look, you’re embarrassing Clint!” Steve makes the mistake of releasing the brunet in order to point.

“Don’t mind me. I’m just a casual observer; not embarrassed in the least.” Clint leans back and shovels more popcorn in his mouth. This is even better than the video.

“HAH!” What starts off as a tackle accidentally rolls Bucky off Steve’s lap, landing him on the floor in a graceless heap. Undeterred, Bucky grabs at Steve’s legs even as the blond tries to get up to help him. Steve is the next to flail and go down, Bucky digging his fingers mercilessly into the back of Steve’s knees. It turns into a tickle-fight, and only quick action by Sam and Thor save the drinks from sloshing everywhere when the two men roll into the table.

Everything comes to a screeching halt when Bucky’s hands wander too far and find a _very_ interesting bit of Steve’s anatomy. A bit that is, in turn, increasingly interested in the proceedings. One minute they’re laughing like children and the next they’re snogging, all lips and teeth and heavy, panting breaths. The table jumps another foot to the right as Bucky rolls them over so he can sit astride Steve’s over-warm body, pinning the blond and viciously claiming his mouth.

“Aaaand _that’s_ our cue to leave.” Tony jumps up and grabs Bruce’s wrist, turning it into a bracing shoulder-hug. “Don’t look back,” he stage-whispers.

Everyone else hastens to join them, Clint grinning with amusement and catching pieces of popcorn in his mouth.

“So how badly did you spike your bowl?” Natasha asks Thor. Maybe she should have nudged Steve and Bucky into drinking out of the non-superhuman batch after the second glass. The Asgardian can handle more than his fair share of alcohol and even _he_ is a little flushed. 

“Ah, approximately one flask?” he hazards. “Although I will admit that I procured something stronger than my normal fare in celebration of the holidays.”

Natasha side-eyes him. “James drank almost four glasses.”

“That would poison a normal Midgardian,” Thor agrees.

“Ah.” She casts a backwards glance at the doorway that obscures their view but does absolutely nothing about the sounds still coming from the rec room. “I see.”

*

Steve chases Bucky’s lips with his own as though it’s the most important thing in the world; like he’ll die if he doesn’t get more. Bucky obliges with enthusiasm if not suave, not that technique currently matters much to either of them. 

It crosses Bucky’s mind more than once that it’s possible he’s drunk. He certainly remembers the feeling, although even with his weak version of the serum, he thought most poisons wouldn’t work on him. And Steve had mentioned something about metabolizing alcohol too fast for it to affect him? But there’s a certain tinge to the blond’s cheeks that Bucky suspects has nothing to do with their mounting passion. He tries to pull back long enough to ask, but every time he breaks free Steve treats it like a game and wrestles him back in.

Well, it’s not like they haven’t done this before. Just not drunk. Or in the public living space, but Bucky has conveniently forgotten that little detail.

Things blur together while they attempt to both remove each other’s clothes and keep their mouths on each other at the same time. When that fails, they try to take their own clothes off, but it only works for their pants. Bucky is the first to crack and he rips Steve’s shirt wide open at the collar, dragging at the fabric until it splits down the middle and _oh, fuck_ that is a lot of skin, warm to the touch and pebbling in the cool air. Steve stares down at his bare chest, momentarily stunned by the display of strength. Bucky hesitates, some part of him waiting for Steve to chastise for destroying perfectly good clothes… Which is why he’s taken off-guard when the blond makes a feral noise and rolls them over again.

Something about watching Bucky crack under the weight of his passion flips a switch in Steve’s brain. Or his cock. One of them. He’s painfully hard and it’s imperative that he: A) does _not_ stop tasting Bucky; B) rids them both of all traces of clothing _right now_ ; and C) gets Bucky in him yesterday. Attempting all three at once proves beyond the scope of even _his_ augmented dexterity, but he manages to accomplish A and B simultaneously. His own shirt comes off while he nips and sucks at Bucky’s neck, lapping up sweat and moaning obscenely at the taste. His back and arms ripple as he strips out of the ruined cloth, cursing when it catches on one hand. Bucky tries to help, but that would mean giving up Objective A, and who is the master tactician here? Steve shoves him back down with perhaps a little more force than necessary. Take _that_ , Objective A.

Taking Bucky’s shirt off without letting go requires more creativity. Steve kisses feverishly down Bucky’s neck until his lips brush against the brunet’s shirt collar. Steve tongues at the fabric until he’s worked an edge between his teeth, pinching Bucky’s flesh in the process. Bucky cries out and grabs at Steve’s hair, pressing them closer together. Growling deep and low, Steve grabs the collar of Bucky’s shirt in his right hand and uses his teeth to rip open the stubborn thing—like a candy cane wrapper, he thinks giddily. He doesn’t mention it, though; not now, when the eggnog has obviously gone over so well. Baby steps.

If he’d thought that seeing Bucky fully naked would slake the fire burning under his skin, Steve was sorely mistaken. If anything, it burns hotter, pouring through his center and making his cock weep precum. That’s good, though; that’s fine because there is no force on Earth that can make Steve Rogers stop long enough to find lube, so this will have to do. He slicks up his fingers as best he can and skates his lips down the planes of Bucky’s chest and stomach; hovers over the brunet’s swollen erection for a single heartbeat before swallowing him down. Bucky jerks his hips and fills the air with expletives, voice suddenly muffled as he bites down on his own hand in an attempt to stave off his impending orgasm.

Years of taking various medications and learning to breathe through asthma attacks are paying off now –Steve, for all his lack of experience, can still deep-throat Bucky like a pro. It’s frankly pornographic the way Steve bobs down without pause for air, working his throat around Bucky’s cock while fingering himself open. Bucky can only lie back and take it, swept away by the picture Steve makes and the pleasure snaking through his veins. Just as Bucky thinks he’s going to explode, Steve backs off to straddle his waist. The brunet opens his mouth to warn him, really he does, but the words die on his lips as Steve rocks himself onto Bucky’s cock with little more than spit to ease his way.

It’s painful—it _has_ to be painful. There’s no way Steve could possibly be prepped enough, and Bucky can feel the amount of friction between their bodies. But Steve just moans like a whore and bounces lightly, impaling himself by degrees. Bucky whimpers and does his best not to thrust up, clinging to the voice in his head that insists he take care of Steve, but it’s a close thing. He settles for circling his hips gently while massaging and thumbing Steve’s hole, attempting to help the blond’s muscles relax enough to take him all in.

It feels like forever before Bucky can breathe again, subconsciously holding his breath in concentration until Steve bottoms out. No sooner has Bucky gasped in a relieved breath than Steve grinds himself down _hard_ , punching the air out of Bucky’s lungs in surprise. Steve’s fingers grip at Bucky’s shoulders hard enough to bruise, but the other man’s only reaction is to grab Steve’s hips with equal force, whining desperately in the back of his throat. Steve won’t stop gyrating his hips: short, quick rolls that evolve into bouncing himself on Bucky’s cock, each movement eliciting a tiny whimper of pleasure.

Steve looks so glorious, taking his own pleasure from Bucky’s body with wild abandon, that the brunet thinks he might go blind at the sight. He reaches out to grip Steve’s shaft, hell-bent on making the man fall apart at the seams. Bucky pumps in time to Steve’s bouncing until the blond slows, shaking and gasping. Bucky adds a twist of his wrist and Steve _sobs_ as he comes in white-hot ribbons between them, making a mess on his own chest as he cries out a mangled version of his lover’s name.

Watching Steve shuddering above him is just too much. Bucky really _does_ go blind for a moment, his orgasm crashing through him with enough force to blot out both his hearing and his sight. He’s screaming something but he doesn’t know what—it could be Steve’s name, or a curse, or a prayer, or all three, but he doesn’t have the faculty to both talk and process his own words at the same time. Bucky can feel his own come ease the way for the few final thrusts, leaking back down over his balls and thighs to drip on the carpet underneath them.

Exhausted, Steve’s hands slip from Bucky’s shoulders and he nearly knocks their heads together as he collapses. Bucky reaches out to catch him just in time, murmuring endearments and humming with the aftershocks. He rubs his hand over Steve’s back in slow circles until the blond’s breathing evens out and both their heartbeats slow. Steve lets Bucky slip free with a grimace before rolling on his back beside the other man, one hand groping for a discarded shirt. Bucky winds up being the first to find one, using the torn fabric to clean them both. 

Steve sighs happily and props himself up to silently request another kiss, drawing it out long and languid. Steve tastes like gingerbread and eggnog, and maybe a hint of rum. They break apart and Steve drapes himself over his lover, nuzzling his shoulder affectionately.

“Hey, Stevie?”

“Yeah, Buck.”

“…I think I like the eggnog.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t drink and have sex. It usually leads to bad decisions, the least of which is ruining your friends’ living room floor and scarring them all for life.
> 
> Watching random Japanese commercials is legitimately something I do. In particular there is one company known as "Softbank" that actually has commercials with consistent characters and plot line. The mascot (and thus primary character) is a white Akita named "Otou-san." He talks. It's awesome. For anyone further interested, there is also a series for Boss Coffee featuring Tommy Lee Jones as their representative.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Happy start-of-the-holidays, guys! <3
> 
> ETA: Here is the French commercial I was thinking of, and some examples of Otou-san and Boss Coffee.


	2. Cookies

Normally, Bucky doesn’t have anything against cookies. Honestly, what’s not to like? Sugar, flour, butter, more butter, all kinds of extra stuff to make it all delicious… No, cookies are fine. _In general._

It’s having to make dozens of cookies for parties you don’t want to go to and for people you rarely see that bothers him.

“It’s about generosity,” Steve admonishes. He has gingerbread, sugar cookies, and linzers cooling on racks across almost every horizontal surface in sight. Bucky just scowls harder.

“You know there are people who bake for a living that you can pay to do this, right?”

“Don’t be a smart-ass.” Steve hands over a piping bag already fitted with a star-shaped tip. “Just help.”

If he doesn’t, Bucky knows he’ll be forced to endure Steve’s decidedly _not_ sulking face, made all the more powerful for the effort invested in attempting to be cheerful. He sighs and takes the bag. It’s not as though he _can’t_ frost something, especially if they’re simple cut-outs like trees or stars or snowmen. Mostly it involves calculations for pressure and angles, both of which he’s exceptionally good at.

Steve is so organized it’s scary. Maybe it’s because he needed to be able to find any of his (numerous) medications at a moment’s notice, but the blond has been that way as long as Bucky has known him. Today, he has different colors and flavors of frosting already fitted into bags and carefully labeled, different tips lined up and ready for use.

“You’ve gotta have more than two hundred cookies in here,” Bucky complains as he switches out plain white frosting for a creamy yellow lemon. Steve actually grated _lemon zest_ into it.

“Should be about two-fifty?”

Bucky snorts incredulously and puts down his piping bag, massaging the cramps out of his right hand and wandering over to hover next to Steve. The blond is busy making little frosting flowers in lieu of buttons for snowmen, biting his lip in concentration. Bucky kind of wants to nip at Steve’s lips himself.

“You’re just showing off now.” Bucky makes a show of trying to mess up Steve’s cookie, which predictably earns him a firm smack to the back of his hand. Unfortunately, it’s his left one and Steve hurts himself more than Bucky. The brunet smirks. “That’s what show-offs get.”

“Yeah, but it makes the cookies taste so much better,” Steve protests. At Bucky’s raised brow, he seizes a dark gingerbread cookie and breaks off a piece. “Say ‘ahhh.’”

“I’m not fi—!” Bucky almost bites his tongue trying to close his mouth as Steve shoves the entire piece in without waiting. Now _he’s_ wearing a smirk. Bucky’s jaw works furiously to swallow the heavily spiced bite.

“Okay, now with the frosting.” Bucky glares a warning that Steve cheerfully ignores. He uses the piping bag to daub creamy white icing on Bucky’s lower lip, making the brunet automatically flick his tongue out to lap it up.

Sugar mellows out the burn of cinnamon and cloves on his tongue, adding balance. Hell if he’s going to admit it, though, not when Steve looks so smug and knowing. “You’re still showing off with the flowers an’ all.”

“I am not! They’re easy to do. Lemme show you.”

Without waiting for confirmation, Steve grabs Bucky’s right hand and places it palm-down on the nearby counter, a firm yank warning him to be still. Glancing up to make sure the brunet is watching, Steve squeezes more frosting out of the bag onto the back of Bucky’s hand with a little twist of his wrist. Sure enough, it looks like the petals of a flower. Steve shoves the bag into Bucky’s hand and puts his own n the counter. “Now you.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky leans in to get a better angle. He squeezes too hard and ends up with a giant pile of icing. Glowering at it like it’s a personal insult, he moves to a clear spot and tries again. This time, he doesn’t put enough pressure and the petals stop about halfway.

“You can try—” 

Bucky clamps his hand over Steve’s arm when the blond attempts to move. “I got it.”

Steve falls silent and waits while Bucky picks his next spot with all the precision of finding a sniper’s nest. This one is a little wobbly but definitely flower-shaped.

“Nice!” Steve beams happily, but Bucky just frowns.

“It’s not as good as yours.”

“They don’t have to be the same. Besides, it’s still delicious, and the ones made by someone you love taste even better. Here.” Steve raises his own hand to Bucky’s lips. The brunet rolls his eyes but obediently licks.

It tastes like frosting.

“Now that one.” Steve gestures to his own little flower on Bucky’s hand. The brunet suppresses a sigh and laps at his own skin.

It tastes like frosting. 

…But this time is undeniably different. Steve’s eyes are riveted on Bucky’s face, flicking from his eyes to his mouth repeatedly. Bucky watches Steve subconsciously mimic him when he darts his tongue out for another taste. They stare at each other for long moments, Bucky holding the melting sugar in his mouth, before the brunet decides to take the plunge.

“Now you,” he husks. He can see Steve’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows and nods, eyes never leaving Bucky’s lips. The brunet brings his hand to Steve’s mouth and feels his breath pick up as the blond laves his tongue slowly over Bucky’s skin. Next, Steve brings his own hand to his mouth. Bucky’s focus narrows on the way Steve licks his own skin, tongue curling to scoop up the creamy white frosting, drawing it into the hot confines of his mouth…

Bucky’s kissing the other man before either of them can even register the movement. Steve moans as Bucky’s tongue forces its way in, curling around Steve’s and spreading the sticky-sweet flavor everywhere. Tongue, teeth, lips… everything tastes bright and sugary. If the combination of spiced cookie and frosting was delicious, then the addition of Steve makes it downright _inspired_. Bucky already feels a little floaty from the single kiss.

Steve cups his hands around Bucky’s face, ravishing his mouth with urgent little noises. Bucky fists his hands in Steve’s shirt to draw him closer, only to shove him back the moment Steve’s guard is down.

The blond hits the counter with his back, still off-balance when Bucky gets down on his knees and attacks the other man’s zipper with his teeth. Steve tries to brace himself, but just then Bucky nuzzles his crotch and Steve’s legs buckle at the sudden pleasure. Cookies rain down on them when Steve’s hand accidentally catches a cooling rack in a sad attempt to save himself from falling. The one rack turns into half a dozen as they domino into each other, some confections going flying and others just sliding into each other or on the ground. It’s lucky they’re both good at falling or Steve would have brained himself on the way down.

As it is, he barely manages to avoid hitting his head. As soon as he’s on the floor, Bucky pulls his pants down around his knees before shoving his shirt up above his waist. Steve has to shield his eyes from falling crumbs and immediately regrets the decision when Bucky sucks on the tip of his cock, making his entire body jerk at the sensation. He can hear the cabinet splinter when his knuckles hit it with no regard at all to his enhanced strength.

If only Bucky would let him _think_. But, no, the brunet is already mouthing at the underside of his cock, sliding his wet, open mouth up the sensitive flesh there and massaging the throbbing vein with his tongue. The firm muscle slides under Steve’s cockhead once, teasingly, giving Steve the illusion that Bucky has slowed his pace and he can get in a few words.

Wrong.

Steve almost chokes when Bucky uses the flat of his tongue to taste and spread the precum gathering at Steve’s slit before changing the angle of his head and sliding down as far as he can, moaning before he starts to suck in earnest. Anything he can’t get under his lips he welcomes into his hand, letting spit dribble down to act as lubricant. Bucky’s free hand is moving to do all _kinds_ of things to Steve’s balls: rolling them in his palm, squeezing just shy of painful, slipping behind them occasionally to apply firm strokes to his perineum. Bucky relaxes his throat and slips over even more of Steve’s cock, the moist heat steadily picking the other man apart. Steve can feel Bucky shaking slightly, and at first he thinks it’s from lack of air, maybe, or general enthusiasm. But the same part of his brain that can track the movements of his teammates on the battlefield—the same one that lets him feel with the soles of his feet if a building is about to come down— _that_ part of his brain registers what’s _really_ going on and supplies the answer without having to explain the process behind it: Bucky is getting himself off.

And it shouldn’t be quite as hot as it is; the steady, timed shakes that force tiny grunts from the brunet. Steve doesn’t even feel the loss of one of Bucky’s hands, not when the brunet rumbles and the sound spikes through Steve’s body, lighting up his nerve endings. Every time Bucky jerks his own hips into his frantically working hand, he bobs his head the slightest amount, prompting him to firm his lips around Steve’s cock and suck just to keep it in his mouth. Dear God it feels like Bucky is trying to suck Steve’s brains out through his dick. Every so often it’s like Bucky has a moment of clarity and does something new with his tongue, flattening it against the head of Steve’s cock, rolling it against his shaft, lapping up the precum just to spread it across his lips and sink down again.

Steve’s vocabulary is reduced to _ah_ and _hm_ and _oh_ as Bucky works him steadily towards his edge. Every grunt that falls from the blond’s lips seems to ricochet straight to Bucky’s groin until he comes, pulling free with a wet pop and crying out as he curls in on himself, forehead resting on Steve’s pelvis so the blond can feel his cock slide across Bucky’s face as he shakes apart.

Bucky doesn’t wait for his orgasm to finish before he’s taking Steve back into his mouth and sucking with even more enthusiasm than before. The lingering, fine tremors of Bucky’s aftershocks, the way he whimpers, and finally, the hot, come-covered fingers Bucky dig into Steve’s hip bone conspire to topple Steve off his own edge, his climax lancing through him to sink into his bones and skin and sinew, injecting ecstasy into his veins.

Bucky can’t quite swallow all his come at once, so he licks his lips and cleans Steve’s softening erection with kitten-like laps of his tongue. Steve’s breathing is finally evening out when he looks down to his lover, who grabs his wrist and sucks on the back of his hand, picking up the lingering remains of the sweet frosting along with crumbs of one of the many cookies littering the floor. He slinks up Steve’s body and presses their lips together, Steve automatically opening his mouth to receive his lover.

The brunet pushes the mixture of come and frosting and cookies into Steve’s mouth, all blended together with Bucky’s spit, and Steve moans at the taste. Bucky moans in return, surprised at how turned on he gets when he feels Steve swallow his own come and chase Bucky’s tongue for more. But despite all speculations to the contrary, they _do_ have refractory periods and Bucky’s body isn’t ready to go again, no matter how insistently it tries.

When Bucky finally breaks away, Steve’s lips are shiny and red, the dazed look not quite gone from his eyes. The brunet knows they’ll have to move to the bedroom before they can continue things. One, because sex in the kitchen, while hot, is probably unsanitary; and two, because the way they’re going there will be a hell of a lot more crumbs and he thinks that will go over about as well as sex on top of sand, which is to say not very well at all. For now, though, he stays on top of Steve and relishes the taste lingering on his tongue: sweet, spicy, salty, fragrant, and all one-hundred percent Steve Rogers.

“You’re right, Stevie. We should frost things more often.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have this out eight hours ago, but I fell asleep on my keyboard after a day of frantic, last-minute Christmas shopping. >_> I really don’t recommend it. Late present shopping _or_ falling asleep on the keyboard; take your pick.
> 
> Kudos and comments of all kind keep me aliiive. <3


	3. Chestnuts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning for temperature play.** Please see tags!
> 
> 26/12/16: Altered to keep continuity in later chapters.

“Dammit!” Bucky throws down yet another chestnut with a petulant scowl. “See? This is why I hate the stupid things.”

Steve sighs and picks up the squashed brown husk. He can wait with a hair trigger for hours, but for some reason Bucky Barnes can’t open a chestnut to save his own life.

“Plus, they’re either so hot you burn your tongue, or they’re cold and hard, _and_ they don’t have a flavor!”

“They have a flavor,” Steve says. “And you just pull at one of the little triangles—”

“I know you _just_ , Steve. Doesn’t stop them from being annoying little fuckers,” Bucky growls. “You know what? I’m not having this argument.” The brunet gets up and storms out.

Steve drags a hand down his face and sighs. He knows Bucky well enough to know that he doesn’t actually _mind_ chestnuts. They grew up with them sold on every other street corner, after all. He just has to remind the brunet how enjoyable they really are.

*

When Bucky slinks back in several hours later, he’s not sure how it bodes that Steve is still awake. The blond is waiting up on the sofa reading a book. Bucky considers tiptoeing around him into the bedroom, but before he can make a decision Steve looks up from the pages and smiles with gentle warmth. Bucky suppresses the urge to sigh with relief and smiles shyly back instead. Steve gets up, reaching for Bucky, and the brunet goes willingly into his arms.

“Sorry I was being stubborn earlier,” Bucky mutters.

“It’s okay, Buck.” Steve’s hands stroke down the brunet’s sides.

“No, I know I haven’t been… cooperative lately. But you’re being really patient and I just keep snapping at you…”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I have a way you can make it up to me,” Steve murmurs. His voice lowers in pitch as he speaks, breath ghosting suggestively across Bucky’s ear. 

The brunet shivers. Make-up sex is definitely the best outcome of this situation. He glances up to make sure he’s not mixing signals, but Steve’s eyes are dark and he’s licking his lips in that absent way he does when he’s already imagining something. “Yeah, I’d… I’d like that. Never go to bed upset, right?”

Steve chuckles and buries his face in Bucky’s hair. “Right.”

Baiting him along with seductive, dragging kisses, Steve leads them both into the bedroom. He reaches down to grab something and dangles it in front of Bucky. The sight of a blindfold causes his heart to race. Their early forays into BDSM had caused Steve some anxiety in the aftermath—was he too harsh? Too gentle? Did Bucky really feel safe? Steve’s own enthusiasm had scared him into extra caution. Bucky had appreciated that, but in the interim had suspected that his sexual appetite was much more broad than Steve’s. Although the blond is confident in their limits and communication now, he still rarely initiates. This break in routine is unexpectedly refreshing.

“Safeword?” Steve asks. He’s always the first to ask no matter how they find themselves.

“Hydra.”

Steve echoes the word. They use the same one; it’s not hard to remember and not anything likely either of them will say in bed unless they want things to come to a screeching halt… Which is its purpose so, in this case, well served.

“I’m going to blindfold you and tie your hands. Then I want you to hold still while I take care of you. Color?”

“Green.”

A slow smile spreads across Steve’s face. “I have a surprise tonight.”

Bucky nods. He’s already stripping out of his own clothing and Steve chuckles a bit at the other man’s eagerness. Careful fingers tie the blindfold across Bucky’s eyes, but instead of moving him to lie on the bed, Bucky finds himself guided around to somewhere else. He follows the pressure of Steve’s hand and lets the blond be his eyes. His heart rate picks up with excitement, depending on his lover to keep him safe. He knows that Steve is there with him and won’t let anything happen.

Unless he wants it to.

When Steve finally helps him down, Bucky can tell he’s going to be lying on the floor. Judging by the plush quality, he’s either in the bathroom or Steve relocated one of the bath mats. His surroundings don’t echo properly so he figures it’s the latter. Steve asks if he’s comfortable and waits for Bucky’s affirmation before tying the brunet’s hands together.

“Color?”

“Green.” As soon as the words leave Bucky’s lips, Steve’s large hands start traveling down the other man’s body; firm touches that are more like a massage than anything else.

“Relax,” Steve murmurs. Bucky can feel the blond move away for a moment to fiddle with something. Dry heat grows slowly somewhere off to Bucky’s right in contrast to the general coolness of the room. Another bit of fiddling and cold blooms to Bucky’s left. Together, they’re like little contrasting bubbles of hot and cold, edges seeping out to fight for dominance over Bucky’s body.

Confusingly, he can hear a rattle to his right before Steve kisses him gently, soft and caring and full of promise. He nuzzles a line down Bucky’s neck that terminates at his clavicle.

“Relax,” Steve repeats, mere moments before a searing heat, not quite burning but much too hot to be comfortable, presses against one nipple. Whatever Steve is using is smooth and unyielding as Bucky’s body instinctively tries to shy away from the contact. Steve’s free hand smooths down Bucky’s side, thumb a gentle caress reminding him of his lover’s solid presence. He takes a deep breath and tries to relax as the heat circles ever-wider across Bucky’s chest, a steady but firm spiral out and then back in until Bucky’s skin starts to adjust.

Too fast for Bucky to register, it’s taken away and replaced by an equally smooth, _freezing_ line that cuts through the heat, straight across his nipple and then back to circle it, forcing it to peak painfully. Bucky starts at the contrast, body attempting once again to jerk away only to be met with Steve’s hard grip.

The cold treks back and forth across Bucky’s nipple, circling and dripping and as suddenly as it came it’s gone, replaced by Steve’s mouth sealed on top of oversensitive skin, teeth pinching down on the hard bud. This time Bucky arcs _up_ into the contact, seeing refuge in his lover’s mouth as the confusing feel of hot on cold tangle together in his brain. Again, as soon as he gets used to the newest development of Steve’s lips, they’re taken away. It’s on the warmer side of his body, so the spit there cools but not as much as normal. He can feel the same hard heat start on his other side.

Now that he knows what to look for, Bucky forces his body to relax and counts the passes of the—is it a stone?—across his skin. Soon, Bucky starts to tense with anticipation of the switch. But it’s all for nothing, because Steve seems content to keep toying with the over-warm stone, even moving to draw hard lines down the middle of Bucky’s chest.

It makes it all the more surprising when Steve’s other hand comes up to cup Bucky’s nipple with what _has_ to be ice despite being round, cupped to trap the cold in Steve’s palm. The brunet cries out at the mild pain that comes of his skin contracting so abruptly, but this time his lover is relentless, pushing the cube even harder against the delicate flesh of his nipple until the cold feels like it’s seeping into Bucky’s bones in a bright white circle. Steve’s mouth, this time with the searing stone held just behind his teeth, seals over Bucky’s skin and drags trails in the cold’s wake. Bucky can hear the click of the stone against teeth as Steve moves it in his mouth so he can add sucking kisses to the mix, using his clever tongue to maneuver the object directly onto Bucky’s skin at intervals, heat all the more intense for the spit conducting its temperature.

Steve goes on like this for a while, sometimes leaving Bucky’s flesh cold and sometimes warming it back up, but always leaving thin, wet trails in his wake that warm or settle to chill depending on which side of Bucky’s body they lie, the sources of hot and cold on either side of him dictating how he feels instead of his own body, confusing his senses until the mild pain turns into excited pleasure that makes Bucky pant and moan.

Given Steve’s pattern, it shouldn’t be so surprising to feel the searing heat trace over Bucky’s swollen cock, under his balls and up the backs of his thighs. Steve holds Bucky’s legs open, folding the brunet’s knees up toward his chest. Bucky whimpers when Steve works his body up so his ass is elevated across Steve’s folded knees, fully anticipating the path of that heat. But Steve surprises him again by removing the sensation and replacing it with kind kisses to Bucky’s thighs and then calf; one leg and then the other until Steve has Bucky’s knees hooked over his shoulders.

A dry rattle is the only warning Bucky gets before little balls of heat rain down on his torso, each one searing and clacking against its brethren as Bucky’s chest heaves and he cries out. He can feel the smooth things falling in a cascade down his sides, some migrating up to slide down his shoulders or pool in the hollow of his neck, some slipping down his waist and gathering in the dip of his stomach where Steve forces his body to fold. His cock hovers over that uncomfortable heat, teasingly close but never closing that gap. A familiar scent tickles Bucky’s nose now that the hard objects are so close to his head, and is Steve serious? Because they smell like—

Steve is apparently full of surprises tonight because instead of raining cold down as Bucky expects, the blond shoves a piece of ice against the back of Bucky’s knees, making the brunet contract his core so his back arcs off the floor, dislodging even more of the fire-roasted chestnuts so Bucky can feel their smooth husks bounce to a rest beside his face. Steve doesn’t stop his assault of cold, changing from drawing lines to pulling the ice away completely before coming down on a new part of Bucky’s flesh. And he should have expected it, he really should have, but somehow he doesn’t connect the dots until the hard surface of melting ice presses against his hole and

 _Fuck_. 

Bucky shouts inarticulately as his ass clenches in an attempt to reject the intrusion, but Steve isn’t having any of that as he holds Bucky’s cheeks apart with one hand while the other teasingly pops just the barest fraction of the ice in and out of Bucky’s rim. The brunet is crying with sensory overload now, but he’s moaning too, mind basking in the glow of Steve’s attention, his erection filling with blood even as the cold creeps up.

He jolts again as the ice is whipped away and replaced with something so hot it feels like it’s burning by contrast, and Bucky might never look at a chestnut the same way again. He feels the smooth shell caress his hole teasingly, Steve moving it up to press firmly against Bucky’s perineum before returning it to warm the puckered ring of muscle.

The brunet hears the chestnut ricochet off something to his left as Steve tosses it aside so he can slip his arms under Bucky to lift him up; Steve lowers himself so he can place his hands on the globes of Bucky’s ass and spread them and oh, _oh_ that’s Steve’s _tongue_ flattening against Bucky’s hole, feeling cool in the wake of the heat of the previous heat, but the muscle slick and satisfying the way no toy could ever be…

Steve works his tongue around Bucky’s tight hole until it starts to relax. Bucky sweats and curses, body still confused by the differing temperatures on either side. He keeps trying to pull away to find a more comfortable spot either closer to the heat or the cold, but that pulls him away from Steve’s glorious mouth, so he returns to the blond only to repeat the entire process. Steve, meanwhile, hums and moans while he eats Bucky out, bringing his fingers into play to hold the brunet open and exposed to anything Steve wants to do or see. His tongue shoves past the ring of muscle, pointed and thrusting until Bucky’s hole starts to relax. He sucks and nibbles on the rim and ignores Bucky’s weeping cock, one hand holding Bucky still and the other keeping him spread and vulnerable to Steve’s wicked tongue. The blond works one finger in beside his tongue. It’s a little awkward due to the angle, so he sits back up on his knees and pushes one of Bucky’s legs back up towards his chest and— _oh_.

Steve’s finger plunges in and gets straight to business, finding Bucky’s prostate and massaging first in gentle circles and then in time with his tongue’s pulsing. The brunet keeps arcing off the floor, angle of his body forcing his head to dig painfully into the floor every time he snaps taut, muscles of his neck standing out every time Steve presses particularly hard, continuous whines slipping from Bucky’s throat in stark contrast to Steve’s pleased hum. Bucky spirals higher, searching for release but not quite finding it. His cock is swollen and aching and he can feel the warm trails of his precum sliding up his stomach, sticky and wet. Steve takes pity on him and reaches up to touch Bucky where he needs it most. 

Bucky sobs his release when Steve tightens his grip, swiping his thumb over the head of Bucky’s cock and pumping quickly. The brunet shakes apart, uncaring that the angle shoots his come practically over his own face, too lost in the relief and ecstasy coursing through his veins. He can feel himself being lowered and Steve strips off the blindfold before taking himself in hand. Bucky opens his mouth and Steve’s eyes go wide at the sight. He scrambles to straddle Bucky’s chest, hips snapping forward to paint his lover with his own release, eyes half-lidded so he can watch the white ribbons land on Bucky’s chin and tongue. 

Steve falls forward with a groan, barely stopping himself in time to avoid squashing his partner. He struggles to take even breaths and frees Bucky’s hands, getting back up on shaky legs to retrieve a cool cloth. Bucky looks around blearily to see the scattering of rounded nuts on the floor. On one side of him is a lit brazier that Steve moves safely away, and on the other side is a bowl of spherical ice nestled, in turn, over one of dry ice to keep it cold. The latter billows white clouds onto the floor, chilling the air it touches.

Sated and happy, Bucky lounges while Steve settles by his side, propped up on one arm so they can exchange tender kisses.

“Was that okay?” the blond asks anxiously.

“Well, I decided that chestnuts are worth the trouble.” Bucky smirks.

Steve smiles down at him. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure if it’s good or bad that I keep zonking out while mid-sentence. >_>
> 
> Also, thank you so much to the person who pointed out that I messed up what was supposed to be ice and what was supposed to be dry ice. It is apparently BAD to fall asleep in the middle of a story, because you do dumb things like forget entire sentences and subjects.


	4. Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caught up! Also, it took me three false starts to write this, so... I got pretty far and just posted it up here. My sincerest apologies. ;_;

“Come on,” Steve encourages. Bucky stumbles up the last few steps and crunches through the snow on the Tower roof.

“Why are we outside?” Bucky complains. “I was nice and warm.”

Steve looks around and figures this is as good a spot as any. He’s already testing the limits of Bucky’s patience, having asked the brunet to walk blind up the stairs. Steve works the knot on the back of the blindfold and drops it away. He has to suppress the urge to say ‘ta-da!’ like a street magician.

“What do you think?” he asks instead.

Bucky surveys Steve’s little surprise: A modest shelter made of thin nylon stretched on a flexible frame protects a series of thick blankets spread on the floor of the roof; plump pillows sit in two piles, and a portable heater tucked into the back keeps the contents of a picnic basket from freezing over. A long piece of wood at the mouth of the shelter acts like a sill to prevent snow from entering the snug abode; a large, sturdy thermos stands beside two mugs, ready for use.

Bucky takes in the scene before him and frowns. “I think we could have done this inside.”

Steve has to bite down an angry retort, then the urge to whine. Maybe it’s because they’re so close, but Bucky knows how to hurt him without even meaning to. Steve had seen the fluffy white mounds of snow this morning and decided it would be perfect for a romantic Christmas lunch. He’d cooked all the food and had Tony help him throw together a shade and everything. Plus, the roof is much more private than Central Park, which had been his initial idea—Bucky could be odd about when he did and didn’t mind being out in public. “It’s a picnic. I thought that since it’s so nice out—”

“We used to do picnics indoors all the time,” Bucky interrupts. “When your lungs were acting up and we couldn’t make it out of the city—”

“Can’t we just enjoy lunch together on the roof?” Steve tries again. “Snow this nice won’t last—”

“So what?!” Bucky’s body is rigid with anger. “Did it occur to you that maybe I don’t _want_ to be on the roof?!” Steve takes a half-step back while Bucky starts to pace, turning to glare at Steve every time he opens his mouth, breath puffing in the air. “You think maybe I’ve had _enough_ of snow for a lifetime? In case you forgot, they used to call me the _Winter_ Soldier!”

Steve holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Okay, just—”

“ _Just_ nothing, Steve! Sometimes it’s hard _just_ to go out for missions it’s so cold! Not because I can’t take it—of _course_ I can take it—but because it’s too close to whatever I was in Hydra’s hands, getting iced over and over again. I wasn’t _meant_ to remember that, but now I _do_ and… And don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t trade my memories for the world, but sometimes I want to dig into my own skull and drag those damn things out so they’re not in my head anymore!”

Bucky’s chest heaves with emotion, his fists balled by his sides like he’s gearing for a fight, glaring defiantly at Steve. Steve has gone from shocked to remorseful to angry and at some point has settled into an eerie calm. The calm more than anything seems to unsettle the brunet.

“Do you honestly think you’re the only one here who has a problem with the cold?” Steve’s voice is even despite the high color in his cheeks. “That you’re the only one who looks at snow and sees a body falling and imagines blood everywhere, sees everything being ripped away? Who was pulled from the ice only to wake up with everything different, all alone, still fighting? You think I don’t wake up some days and feel numb when I look outside, or that I _regret_ waking up or getting out of the ice for that _one second_ before I figure out where I am, when I still think that I’m all _alone_ again, that I’ve lost absolutely everything and I’m just waiting to die, for someone to drape that flag over me and stick me in the ground, but _no_ , been there and got pulled back out; maybe it’s a fucking curse and someone will wake me up all over again when all I want is for it to be _over_ —” Steve swipes at his face angrily, dashing away hot tears. “But you know what? I’m out here anyway. You know why?” He doesn’t wait for a response, though Bucky looks too shocked to give one.

“Because I’d do it all again. I’d do it a million times if it means I’d still be standing here with you. Do I wish it’d gone different? Yes! I wanted to go home with you, find a new place to live with our final pay, get new jobs and live out our lives together, even if we had to hide, even if it meant I had to let people poke at me like they have all my life, so long as I had you. But it _didn’t_ work out like that; ice froze us both and… And in some twisted way, I’m _grateful!_ Because it _didn’t_ work out the way I wanted, no, but just when I resigned myself to life without you it turns out you were here too, and maybe the cold is painful and scary and maybe it’s not my favorite thing in the world, but I’m gonna tell you again that I won’t let it matter because _it brought me back to you!_ ”

Steve gasps for air, feeling it stab into his lungs, but he’s too worked up to take proper breaths. He scrubs at his face again, mopping up the tears trying to freeze on his cheeks. Bucky looks contrite.

“Can I talk now?” he asks gently. Steve inhales deeply and nods. “Stevie…” Bucky looks away in shame. “I’m sorry.” He faces Steve properly and steps closer to take his arm. “Come on, let’s sit down. You’re shaking.”

“I’m not.” But he is. He lets Bucky lead them both into the shelter; lets himself collapse into a pile of pillows; lets Bucky gather him hesitantly into his arms.

“You’re right,” the brunet says softly. He combs his hands through Steve’s hair soothingly. “I forgot. I wasn’t thinking properly, and that’s not an excuse for anything. It’s just the truth. You put a lot of thought into this. If I wasn’t such a sapskull I would’ve seen that straight off.” Bucky tips Steve’s face up so he can cup the blond’s cheek with his hand, nuzzling his forehead affectionately. “It’s okay, Stevie. You were trying to make this better for us, weren’t you? I’m sorry I didn’t see it before. I’m sorry, doll.”

Steve leans into Bucky’s touch. “I just wanted to see you smile. Most of the time I remember nice things. From before? The way you’d bundle me up, or how I used to make up hot water and lemon ‘fore you went to work.”

Bucky follows the slide of Steve’s eyes toward the waiting thermos. “Is that what’s in there?” He smiles at the telling flush of Steve’s cheeks—the blond is adorable. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Um. Well, there’s honey in it too…”

Bucky kisses Steve’s cheek, tasting the salt there. A chuckle bubbles up his throat, half-choked with emotion. “You’re too good to me.” His lips find Steve’s for a sweet, chaste kiss. “Way.” Kiss. “Too.” Kiss. “Good.” He punctuates his statement with a deeper kiss, pulling his tongue across Steve’s to taste the sweetness he knows is there. Steve always tastes wonderful, some kind of heavenly combination of summer sun and nectar and the refreshing crisp of ice without any of the cold. Steve sighs into the kiss, moaning faintly as their mouths clash and tangle together.

Eventually they break apart, breathing heavily so their breath plumes the air. Steve brushes chilled fingers across Bucky’s cheeks, sliding around to tangle his hand in the hair at the nape of the brunet’s neck. He brings his weight to bear on his lover, steadily pushing him down to the warm blankets. Steve’s lips hover just above Bucky’s, close enough to brush together when the blond talks. “I like to think I’m just good enough.”

“C’mere.” Bucky’s voice is gruff with emotion. He loops both arms around Steve’s neck to pull the blond in, kissing him soundly.

Steve starts to feel dizzy between the heat pooling low in his groin, the fervor of Bucky’s kisses and the sharp breeze swirling around them. Bucky’s metal hand warms steadily against his skin, absorbing the heat radiating off Steve. When the blond goes to peel up the corner of Bucky’s shirt, the downy jacket the brunet wears pulls him up short. Undaunted, Steve fumbles with the zipper until it gives way to his probing hands. Bucky shudders under Steve’s body as his right hand grabs the blond’s waist, and he moans in wanton desire.

Steve feels as though he might vibrate out of his skin with want for the man under him. He switches to licking and sucking at the flesh of Bucky’s neck, staying close to keep the skin there warm even after his lips leave. Bucky outright whines when Steve’s teeth scrape against his skin. Steve’s answering hum makes Bucky’s hips jerk up, brushing their clothed erections together hard enough to make them both hiss with the accompanying spike of pleasure. Steve’s teeth clamp down involuntarily and Bucky rolls his hips again, seeking that delicious friction he knows will stoke the fire burning just under his skin.

Steve wants _so badly_ to get his mouth on Bucky, to taste the salty tang of his come on his tongue. But it’s much too cold for that, so Steve settles for the second-best thing: He works the fly of Bucky’s jeans until he can slip one hand past the waistband to take his lover’s cock in a warm, firm grip. Bucky’s breath stutters in his chest, pulse racing so hard and fast that Steve can feel it through the thick vein running the length of Bucky’s erection.

Bucky jerks at Steve’s jacket, fabric fraying before the brunet finally wrangles the zipper. He doesn’t stop there, though. Bucky’s hand dives for the opening of Steve’s jeans, impatience prompting him to switch hands so he can use his metal fingers as a wedge to yank off the button there without biting into the blond’s waist. Grunting with impatience, Bucky grabs Steve’s member with his left hand, smooth metal shocking Steve into groaning and rutting into his grip. Bucky grins as he swipes his thumb over Steve’s slit, massaging the firm head before sliding the slick over his palm and fitting his hand properly around the blond’s cock. Steve slams their mouths together hungrily, tightening his own grip around the other man’s hardness and pumping eagerly. Bucky listens to the animalistic sounds falling from Steve’s mouth in awe. He loves it when Steve loses his composure like this. Maybe it’s watching the blond come undone, or the knowledge that he was Steve’s first and may well be his last, no matter who may or may not have come and gone in between. It could be the glowing knowledge that _he_ is the one with the power over Steve’s pleasure, that the blond trusts him implicitly to give him what he needs. Whatever the reason, Bucky can feel himself grow painfully hard as Steve works him over, inching him towards his climax.

It’s not long before their breaths sync, fists pumping in time while they grunt into the kiss, control slipping until they can’t fit their lips together anymore, only capable of whining and licking into each other’s open mouths. Steve comes first when Bucky grinds out the command “Come” with a twist and swipe of his thumb that he knows drives the blond wild. He can feel Steve’s muscles snap taut as his body locks up, eyes glazing over as he spills over Bucky’s fist. Bucky’s thrusts become erratic—he can’t help but love it when Steve comes, no matter how, as long as Bucky knows he’s the cause. The almost-crushing grip of Steve’s hand when pleasure crashes over him, the ripple of his abs when he pulses his release, the warmth coating Bucky’s hand and the dry sobs cracking from Steve’s throat when he comes… It all conspires against the brunet to jettison him over his own edge, euphoria bursting through him and obliterating anything that isn’t pleasure—his or Steve’s, he doesn’t care whose.

They prolong each other’s orgasms as long as possible, until both whimper with overstimulation and Steve becomes acutely aware of how tacky his hand has become. He pulls away to Bucky’s disappointed but sated groan, gritting his teeth against the cold as Bucky does the same. Looking at his own hand speculatively, he waits until Bucky looks at him before pushing both their hands together and slipping their forefingers into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around their digits, sucking and lapping up the come coating both of them while Bucky makes a sound like a dying animal under him, eyes burning at the sight. Steve makes a show of cleaning each of their fingers, letting Bucky toy with his tongue while he sucks and licks with single-minded devotion, swirling their flavors together. Bucky lunges up to claim Steve’s mouth, pulling their hands out of the way just in time and chasing the flavor of _them_ on Steve’s tongue. It’s a little odd to taste himself, but Steve plus him must make sense in every way, because this is so much better than Bucky thought it would be.

It’s a good ten minutes of nibbling skin, kissing, and sad attempts to zip various clothes shut before they manage to regain some self-control. They move to the center of the shelter to watch the newest addition of fat, fluffy flakes falling slowly but steadily from the greying sky.

“We really should go back in, though,” Steve sighs. “I was hoping the new snow would hold off until later tonight. Plus, this isn’t really the best place to get changed.” He’s under Bucky this time, the brunet acting as a barrier between Steve and the ‘door,’ a knee-jerk reaction to keep Steve warm and safe. Steve lets him, attempting to make himself seem smaller so he can look up at the brunet the way he used to. It’s not perfect, but then what in their lives is?

“Stevie, there were times in Europe that we hiked wet through the snow for _days_. It was cold and chafed like the devil. Don’t tell me you’re going to let a little spot like that stop you from having lunch with your best guy?”

Steve perks up at that. “Really? You’re not still mad? I mean, it upset you so you’d still have every right—” Bucky silences him with a finger to the blond’s lips, pulling away astutely before Steve can lick him. Anyone else might let it go, but Bucky Barnes is not ‘everyone else.’ This is one of Steve’s ways of deflecting, withdrawing so he can cut his losses and run. Generally, he pretends to not be avoiding people until he finishes sorting whatever is bothering him.

“I’m not mad. I’m not even sore. I want… I mean I _don’t_ want…” Bucky sighs. “You were always better with words. I’m tryin’ to tell ya that I trust you. I’m not mad at you, punk; I love you. We maybe both overreacted, but Stark keeps telling us we act like an old married couple, so I guess we had a fight due. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to stay. See, I heard my boyfriend made something to eat for us out here, and suddenly I’m starving.”

Steve smiles up at him, so innocent and swift to forgive. It’s those honest, accepting eyes that drew Bucky in seventy years ago and here they are, still the same and still doing their job at captivating the weak soul that is James Barnes. “You’re really sure? I’m all right packing up and eating by one of the fireplaces inside, if you want.”

“I’m sure.” Bucky layers blankets over Steve and then himself, dragging the box between them to rummage around inside. “See, there was this weird thing where I thought being cold was the same thing as being trapped, but my best guy showed me how snow can offer something new; how it can be hope instead. Guess if we didn’t have it, nothing living would have the chance or rest, or adapt, so it can come back year after year, stronger than ever.”

“Sounds kind of pretentious.”

“‘Sanctimonious’ is the word more commonly used.”

“Hm. At least it’s good for their vocabulary.” Steve grins and accepts a piece of shortbread. He pours the steaming liquid from thermos into their own mugs, handing one to Bucky that has the faintest hint of lemon. He sips and, sure enough, there’s a dark undertone of honey. It might be more fancy, but it’s definitely their go-to warm-up drink from countless holidays spent together. Bucky drags Steve into his lap, enhanced dexterity saving their mugs as they resettle.

The lovers sit for a while longer, lingering over food and hot drinks. Bucky eats around Steve’s shoulder, reaching down sometimes so he can feed Steve a bite from his own plate. Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything, snuggling into his partner even more.

“Stevie?

“Mm-hmm?”

“Thanks for, you know, everything. Planning all this, thinking of me, helping me think about all that…” His mouth goes dry, but they both know what he means. “You were right: I _did_ forget there’s someone else here I can talk to now. Someone I know won’t judge or tell me it’s stupid or to go to a therapist before even half of it is out. Someone who I can trust to hold me while I work through things and come back from my own head. Someone I love.”

Steve is smiling up at him, bundled safely in Bucky’s arms. It’s the most precious cargo Bucky has ever held.

“Thanks for loving me enough to do all this.” Bucky nods his head at their surroundings. “For helping me move on. I never thought about it the way you said it, and I might be a lot slower and have to search for the same memories a little longer, but… I think it’ll be worth it. I miss walking out with you to the park, or the museum… Hell, taking the train to see Macy’s and picking up shitty hot chocolate from a rolling vendor. I miss that.”

“It doesn’t have to be right off,” Steve tells him quietly. “I thought… if I could make you smile just _once_ with all of this around us… I thought, ‘That’s a start.’ I can do anything if it’s for you, Buck. I don’t want to have to be scared forever. I don’t have to feel like I left part of me in that glacier; not anymore.”

“I know what you mean. And this was perfect—a perfect start.” He kisses Steve with passion but not heat—he’ll save that for later. “Let’s finish up these drinks and change clothes. Then we can finish the picnic my boyfriend made me, that I almost ruined by being a Class-A jerk.”

Steve lets Bucky help him up before stamping another kiss just to side of the brunet’s mouth. “Maybe next time we can go to the park with the rest of the team and have fortified snowball fights.”

“Wow, haven’t done that since… I guess you were fourteen? You’ll have to put me an’ Natalia on different teams, though. Probably the same with Thor and Stark—both of them are too competitive and what one lacks in size he makes up for with ‘math.’”

“Snowball fight logistics. You sure know how to romance a guy, Bucky Barnes.”

Laughing and bickering back and forth, Bucky follows Steve down the stairwell, a private smile dancing on his lips as he admires snowflakes sparkling in blond hair before they gently melt away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there is a reference in there. Pat yourself on the back if you get it. <3
> 
> Also, I always imagine them eating empanadas. They’re traditional seasonal fare in many Latin American countries, and can be either sweet or savory. They’re pretty awesome, and I imagine Thor eating them by the dozen. :)


	5. Christmas Songs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent almost all of yesterday eating sushi and singing karaoke. So in honor of that, have the Songs chapter. XD

“This is pretty nice,” Bucky admits. Steve has been certain to clear the second parlor—the one with the nicest fireplace—from the rest of their teammates for the evening. JARVIS has the place on lockdown for him and Bucky, and with Thor’s help he’d shoved the majority of the furniture aside and hauled in the most comfortable sofa he could find before sectioning off a more modest section of the room to give it a cozier feel.

Currently, two mostly-empty mugs of hot chocolate sit on the floor while Bucky and Steve lean on each other by the fire. Steve presses a soft kiss to Bucky’s temple. “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s a good break from all the Christmas madness everyone’s been on about.”

Steve almost feels bad about what he’s going to do. Almost.

“Remember how we used to share blankets back in Brooklyn?” Steve still phrases things ‘do you remember,’ but while it used to be a genuine question, Bucky knows they’re all rhetorical these days. Steve has confidence that Bucky will remember, and if the brunet doesn’t he needs only say so. “I kinda miss that.”

“Me too.”

“Can we do that for a while?” Steve ducks his head to give Bucky his biggest, most hopeful smile. He knows the other man can’t resist.

“It’s already warm.” They both know it’s only a token protest. “And you’re too big for that now,” he adds in a teasing tone.

“Then _I’ll_ cuddle _you._ ” Steve is already getting up to retrieve the blankets draped over the back of the sofa. He returns with two in his arms. Bucky turns his head to smile at him as Steve leans in to wrap Bucky firmly in the first one, sitting behind him to nuzzle the back of his neck. Steve soon follows, settling behind Bucky so he’s pressed chest-to-back, his legs hooked comfortably around Bucky’s folded ones. Steve takes the second blanket and lines it up behind his shoulders, grabbing the edge so he can wrap it tight around the both of them, flourishing the right end so it loops back over Steve’s opposite shoulder and his arms are around Bucky in an all-encompassing hug. He puts his chin on the brunet’s shoulder and Bucky can feel the blond smile against his cheek. Bucky can’t help but smile too, enjoying the firm grip of Steve’s arms around him and the larger hug of the blankets surrounding them both. If this is what Steve felt like growing up, when Bucky would share what few blankets they had to hold them tight, no wonder Steve misses it. It feels like pure love.

He’s so lost in his own thoughts that he almost doesn’t hear Steve call out softly “JARVIS, queue, please.” Even so, Bucky doesn’t think much of it until gentle Christmas music fills the room. It’s low enough to easily talk over; more ambient than anything else. 

Bucky should have known this was all a trap. He expects Steve to have a smug smile on his face, but all he feels is a feather-light kiss to the shell of his ear. He sighs anyway. “Couldn’t resist, could you, Stevie?”

“It’s not so bad, Buck.”

“You know I think they’re overplayed. Besides, our last Christmas, the music was all bombshells and drunk singing.”

“That’s why it’s important to remember nice things. Build new memories.”

At least it’s all classy music; nothing like the big band renditions they grew up with. These are all orchestral renditions of traditional songs. There aren’t even any vocals. But that doesn’t stop Bucky from frowning.

“You’re a sneaky bastard.”

“Oh, Buck.”

“Oh, Stevie,” Bucky mimics childishly.

Steve hums along with the song currently playing— _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_ —and tightens his grip around the brunet, nuzzling his neck affectionately. Between that and the peaceful crackle of logs being consumed (artificial in sound but perfectly believable), Bucky can feel himself start to relax. It helps a little when Steve snakes his hands into Bucky’s blanket and starts to massage the brunet’s upper arms, voice a rumble deep in his chest. Bucky allows himself to tilt his head back to rest on Steve’s shoulder behind him, exposing his neck for some light nibbling. He shifts again to make himself comfortable and—

_Oh._

Bucky can feel Steve half-hard against his back and can’t help the way his own dick immediately becomes interested. Steve’s touch suddenly feels sensual; lazy, caressing circles that inch up to Bucky’s shoulder and back down his sides. Steve even runs his hands over the network of scars marring Bucky’s skin, fingers a little firmer so Bucky can still make out the pressure through the thick tissue. The brunet sighs and allows himself to be lost in the sensation for long, happy minutes.

When Steve’s hands creep down Bucky’s stomach to his hardened member, Bucky tenses against the blond’s shoulder and hisses.

“Maybe we should move this to the bed?” he suggests. “We already ruined the carpeting in one of the public rooms…”

Steve ghosts a line of kisses down every part of Bucky’s neck that he can reach in this limited position. “That’s what the blankets are for,” he murmurs.

Bucky barely has time to process the words before Steve’s hand has worked itself under the waistband of Bucky’s pajama pants and underwear, hand warm as he strokes the brunet to fullness. Bucky lifts his hips into Steve’s firm grip, precum already spreading over his lover’s hand. Steve tightens his legs to push Bucky closer to him and… And Bucky’s only just realized that he’s well and truly trapped. The blankets hamper the movements of his arms, and Steve’s legs, hooked over his as they are, force Bucky wide open. The music swirls together with Steve’s breathing in his ear.

“Was this your plan, Captain?” Bucky meant for the question to come out dry and sarcastic, but it comes out as a breathy moan instead. Traitor voice.

“Depends,” Steve breathes into his ear. “Is it working?”

Is it blasphemous, part of Bucky’s brain wonders, to rut into his lover’s hand while listening to _God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman_? He hopes not, because that is precisely what he’s doing. Steve hums again, this time in satisfaction. The blond’s other arm loops across Bucky’s waist, holding him flush to Steve’s body so he can feel the other man’s fully hard member pressing insistently against him. It just drives Bucky further into his pleasure as strains of music fill the room. He rocks his hips so he can rub the top of his ass against Steve’s cock and feels a shuddering exhale on the side of his neck.

“Mmm. Not so bad?”

“Y-you’re a tease, Rogers,” Bucky whines. Steve’s thumb swipes across Bucky’s slit, rubbing gentle circles before massaging just under the tip at the sensitive skin there. Tightening his grip, he works Bucky’s shaft from root to tip, finally bringing his other hand into play so he can cup Bucky’s balls and the skin just underneath, teasing and wonderful all at the same time. The blond won’t stop _humming_ , deep and low, sometimes along with the music but increasingly in pleased hums that tickle sensuously against Bucky’s neck.

Bucky can’t help the warm glow that builds in his chest, just as he can’t stop the slow pooling of pleasure in his groin. Steve increases up his pace minutely, picking up on all Bucky’s signals so he can give the brunet exactly what he wants. It’s like the fire is reaching towards him and through him, suffusing Bucky with heat and sinking it into his very core. The feel of Steve touching the most intimate parts of him, the evidence of his lover’s desire behind him, the unhurried way Steve cares for him, as though they have all the time in the world, as if he’s been waiting for this moment for years...

Bucky’s breath picks up without his conscious thought, arms jerking in an attempt to free themselves of the suppressing cocoon of blankets so he can tangle his fingers in Steve’s blond hair, but all for naught. What he _can’t_ do is almost as hot as what Steve can do to him, forcing Bucky to surrender entirely to Steve’s ministrations.

The steady build results in Bucky panting, soft and quick, head still pressed to Steve’s shoulder, weight thrown back so his lover is the only thing keeping him up, trusting Steve implicitly to hold all of him in every way. Steve moans at the feel of the fine tremors of Bucky’s body, and he can’t help his own little thrusts, needing the friction it provides.

Sensing Bucky approaching his edge, Steve pushes the brunet’s shirt up with one hand, worming it underneath the fabric to pinch and rub at his nipples. Bucky moans louder than ever and pushes his chest into the sensation, turning his head to the side for a desperate kiss. Bucky’s voice reaches his own ears, a new rendition of his earlier mocking.

“Oh, Stevie… Steve, please, _mmm, ah, ah,_ Steve, _Steve_ …”

“I’ve got you, Buck. Let go; I’ve got you.”

Bucky’s orgasm drags him under, punching breathy moans from him. “Oh, Stevie, _Steve!_ ”

Steve groans in Bucky’s ear, kissing him as he feels his lover’s seed spill hot and fast over his hand. Watching and feeling Bucky fall apart in his arms again, hearing his voice called so lovingly, knowing that he is the only thing Bucky can think of when lost in the delirium of pleasure… it nearly undoes Steve as well. It’s all he can do not to come, feeling his cock pulse in sympathy as he works Bucky through the aftershocks, supporting the brunet as the tension drains out of him until he’s boneless in Steve’s arms.

Steve noses Bucky’s head aside so he can press a kiss to the other man’s neck, breathing him in. Bucky’s eyes are all but closed in hazy pleasure.

When the brunet starts to stir again, Steve pulls his hands out of under Bucky’s blanket so he can work the bigger one open to free them both. Bucky immediately takes the opportunity to straddle Steve’s lap and kiss his properly, still breathless and lazy but no less passionate.

“Bed?” Bucky whispers in Steve’s air. “Let _me_ take care of _you_ now.”

Steve closes his eyes and savors another long, deep kiss. “I guess that means things went all right?”

Bucky doesn’t want to give his lover an ego, but he doesn’t want the blond to think he didn’t enjoy it. “Well, the music wasn’t my favorite part, but… if you want it, it can stay.”

Steve pulls Bucky down to claim his lips, smiling into the kiss.


	6. Trimming the Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning for hard BDSM.** If you’re not okay with spanking, slapping, whipping, etc., please avoid this one. Everything is by consent, but please know going in what you are and aren't OK with reading. 
> 
> If you’re skipping this one, suffice to say that Bucky ends up not minding tree decorations.

“It’s just such a waste.”

Steve sighs and tries very hard not to roll his eyes. It’s been like this since they got back from picking a Christmas tree. _That_ had taken forever, too. No one could quite agree on the tree they should get. By consensus, they were only going to buy the one for the communal floor, since if they bought more they would end up having to buy almost twenty and no one really wanted to do that. When they’d gotten there, Steve was doubly glad because, based on how long it took to pick just the one, twenty would have taken them until Epiphany to decide.

It was bad enough that someone had recognized them all as the Avengers while they were at the tree farm. That had resulted in a lot of picture-taking and Thor telling stories to rapt children and then (luckily they explained the whole concept to the Asgardian before) plenty of assurances that Santa was real and Thor and Iron Man had even seen him flying around some nights and had stopped to talk with the jolly man.

What was worse was the way everyone seemed to want something different out of a Christmas tree. Tony wanted the tallest one there. Thor wanted one shorter in stature but with a classic look to it. Clint insisted that the tree had to have sturdier branches so support all the Christmas ornaments. Natasha was the opposite, wanting more branches to cover up a _lack_ of ornamentation. Bucky just kept pointing to trees and asking “What about that one?” Sam got oddly emotionally attached to one that listed slightly to one side, claiming that it had ‘personality.” And Steve always wanted whatever tree the most recent child had pointed out and said would look perfect for an Avenger. Eventually, Pepper had called to get Tony’s attention for something and yelled at him for half an hour for missing a board meeting, then driven up to scold them all impartially and pick a tree, brooking no argument from any of them with the logic that the one she chose was the correct height and looked like it would last the rest of the season.

So here they are, tinsel, strings of popcorn, candy canes, lights, and motley ornaments both store-bought and hand-made, everyone clutching a different thing and attempting not to knock into anyone else as they decorate. Steve just knows there’s going to be an argument later about the tree topper, because he found four of the damn things while they were laying everything out. The lights are all electronic candles, too, because the picture Thor had referenced depicted an older style tree with real candles nestled in the branches. No one wanted to burn down the Tower, so this was their compromise. 

“You didn’t seem to mind when we were touring the ones around New York with Thor,” Steve points out reasonably.

“Yeah, but those are meant to be seen by thousands of people. This one is just gonna sit here.” Bucky is fighting with a string of tinsel that he’s somehow tangled. “Dammit!”

*

Steve was right: there _was_ a fight over the tree topper. In the end, Clint won out by rigging one of the angels to have two guns, with her dress ringed in lights to make it look like it was on fire. 

Every time Bucky enters the room and sees the tree out of the corner of his eye, he scoffs a little, and it’s driving Steve up the _wall_. Which is why he decides that tomorrow, he’s going to _do_ something about it. 

*

Bucky is honestly a little excited. Tonight will be one of the rare occasions he and Steve can be alone without any other obligations. As long as the Avengers aren’t needed, they have nothing but each other for almost twelve whole hours, and Steve’s been hinting at having something special in store.

He exits a nice, relaxing shower, toweling his hair dry, and runs into Steve at door to the bedroom. The blond is wonderfully, incredibly naked with a crimson blindfold draped across his shoulder and an expectant expression on his face.

“Hydra,” Bucky says right off. He knows what Steve’s next question is going to be, and he’s maybe a little too happy to get to the main event. By the wicked smirk the blond aims his way, Steve is enjoying Bucky’s eagerness.

“Hydra,” he echoes. “Is a gag all right tonight, doll? Gonna let me take care of you; take away your choices so you don’t have to think— _can’t_ think?” His voice is a low purr.

God, that’s _exactly_ what Bucky wants. Actually, it’s what he _needs_ right now after a long, tiring week of team bickering and irritation, on top of worry for Steve after a particularly harsh battle in China actually had the blond coughing up blood. That had scared Bucky far worse than he’d expected—the brunet was used to flashbacks of being the Winter Soldier, but not flashbacks of old nightmares; Steve helpless and coughing in his arms, choking on his own blood the way Sarah had in the end…

Seeing Steve whole and hale, showing Bucky he was not only alive but in perfect control of _both_ their bodies… Bucky didn’t realize until now how much the idea would both appeal and soothe. So he responds by nodding and shedding the towel, sinking slowly to his knees in front of his lover and lowering his eyes in a show of submission. He can hear Steve’s breath pick up.

“You should take better care of our things,” the blond says, voice rapidly becoming stern.

Bucky only murmurs, “Yes, sir. I’m sorry,” and retrieves his towel to hang it neatly on its rack. Task done, he hesitates a moment before choosing to crawl to Steve’s feet. Steve crouches in front of him, stroking his hand through long brown locks like Bucky is a favored pet. He smooths the silky blindfold against Bucky’s cheek, making the brunet close his eyes and lean into the touch. Steve whips his hand away and slaps Bucky across the face in a blow aimed more to make noise than hurt; with the serum, Bucky can only feel a token sting, but he welcomes that little pain.

“I didn’t say you could move.” The words are cold and dispassionate, and Bucky suppresses a shiver, feeling his cock harden between his legs. The smooth silk is back, a cool balm against his cheek, and this time Steve uses both hands to tie it over Bucky’s eyes, ensuring the brunet can’t see.

“Since it looks like you’re being rebellious, I’ll have to carry you,” Steve murmurs. Bucky’s heart swoops in his chest when Steve gathers him into his arms, manhandling Bucky until he’s being carried bridal-style into the other room. Steve’s strides are smooth and graceful and Bucky can’t help but relax into his arms.

He’s punished for that when Steve abruptly drops him, letting Bucky hit the ground hard. Bucky knows better than to roll and catch himself, even though he has to fight instinct to do it. If Steve wanted him to land softly, the blond would have placed him on the ground, not dropped him. Bucky lies there and waits for his next order, blood pulsing steadily south.

“On your knees.”

When Bucky doesn’t comply fast enough for Steve’s liking, the blond grabs his hair and uses it to yank him up. Bucky scrabbles to shift his weight until he’s kneeling as Steve ordered. Still blind, he can hear Steve pick something up to press it to his skin.

“I’m going to gag you now, and then I’ll show you the rest. Color?”

“Green. Sir,” he adds. The thrill of not knowing exactly what Steve has planned adds to his anticipation.

Steve hums in satisfaction as Bucky opens his mouth to accept the gag. He feels Steve push it between his teeth—a whiffle gag, the little holes letting Bucky breathe with ease but forcing his jaw to stay open. He moans just to feel it there and realizes as it hits his tongue that Steve actually _flavored_ it. It tastes like a fucking candy cane.

Steve takes the blindfold off and uses it to put a simple binding on Bucky’s wrists while the brunet blinks in the low light to focus his eyes. Steve’s hand reaches up; a firm, comforting presence on the back of his neck.

Laid out in front of him are… Seriously? Sparkling silver tinsel, more sparse than what they used on the tree but no less shiny for it; a spreader bar with a candy-striped cover; a green-tipped riding crop (with little red berries at the base, really?); and nipple clamps with small bells dangling at the ends. He’s in front of the mirror so he can see himself, lips stretched obscenely around… the red gag in his mouth resembles a Christmas ornament. 

“Everything all right?” Steve leans in to whisper. Bucky glares balefully at the ridiculous theme, but it’s all just dressing anyway and he _really_ wants this. He barely restrains the urge to sigh and nods.

“You’re sure?”

Bucky nods again, meeting Steve’s eyes in the mirror to show his sincerity. He can see Steve’s smile, happy and smug, reflected back at him. “Good. Then keep your head up and watch.” His tone has already slid into the firm voice he reserves for scenes, and Bucky feels himself slipping back into his role.

He watches as Steve takes the spreader bar and nudges the brunet’s legs further apart so he can lock it between his knees, straps made of supple suede easily molding to his legs. Next, Steve picks up the (what has to be) bondage rope, rubbing it against Bucky’s shoulder so the brunet can feel the texture. It’s rough instead of smooth and will definitely leave burns if he struggles too hard. The idea makes him shiver. Steve gets to work looping it around Bucky’s body in complicated patterns, the rope seemingly endless and… Is that a star? When did Steve learn _that_? The star spans over his shoulders to just under his pecs, leaving his nipples free and disappearing behind his back to lash his arms together, wrists in so that the most comfortable thing he can do is hold his own elbows. He struggles against them a little, just to test the feel and tension, and has a split-second of satisfaction at the predicted burn of the rope pressed taught against him before Steve is bringing the riding crop across the open expanse of Bucky’s back. The flash of pain jerks Bucky forward and he cries out around the gag, earning him a flick in the opposite direction and an admonishment to “Stay still.” Steve follows this up by walking around Bucky like the man is on display for Steve’s perusal and, really, he is. Bucky feels a thrill as Steve surveys his own handiwork, occasionally reaching out to test the rope or stroke Bucky’s hair.

Bucky looks down again, thinking to appease the domineering presence that is his master, but apparently he’s made the wrong move. Steve’s hand grabs Bucky’s throat tight enough to restrict his breathing but not hard enough to choke, the angle of his arm tilting Bucky’s head up against his will.

“You’ll watch yourself,” Steve growls. Bucky whines and Steve gives him a little shake. “I said, _look at yourself_.”

Bucky nods frantically and returns his gaze to the mirror, taking in the red of his face and the way his flesh strains against the silver star on his chest, cock erect and already leaking, curving up towards his stomach. He can see the spreader holding him open and feels his hole clench, waiting for Steve. His breathing becomes harsh and ragged and the blond lets go of his throat so Bucky can watch the white marks of Steve’s fingers slowly fade. He makes the mistake of flicking his eyes to Steve, who is watching their reflections as well. This time, the crop snaps across the exact center of the star, making Bucky arc and wheeze as he kills the cry in his throat. Steve nods once, firmly, satisfied with his pet’s behavior. The blond picks up the crimson blindfold contemplatively before tying it in a bow around Bucky’s neck, close enough to feel but not enough to exert any real pressure. The bow is behind Bucky so he looks like one of those kittens you see in videos; Christmas gifts to the children lifting them from loose-lidded boxes and cuddling them close. It sends another spike of pleasure through Bucky’s body and he knows he doesn’t mistake the temporary softness of Steve’s gaze when he finishes tying the bow.

“Perfect.” The tip of the crop taps under Bucky’s chin, the firm pressure angling his head until he’s positioned to Steve’s satisfaction. Drool is pooling in Bucky’s mouth, but no matter how he tries to swallow it leaks through the holes in his gag, dripping down in chin in shiny trails. Steve drags the tip of the crop through that, too, and seems to inspect the end thoughtfully. Bucky doesn’t know if the blond likes what he sees or not, and Bucky does so want to please. He’s already far enough in to want Steve’s approval more than anything; to know he’s doing so well that he becomes the center of Steve’s universe.

The crop pushes some of Bucky’s hair away and tucks it behind his ear. While soft, it’s not the yielding warmth he truly craves. Without conscious thought, he tries to move his arms and another crack sounds, a red welt appearing on Bucky’s bicep and another, much harder one, whipping down on top of the plethora of scars past Bucky’s left shoulder. Some of them are almost numb while others are permanently oversensitive, and pain spikes through him. He has to force himself in place this time, letting the pain sink into his body with no place to go. He’s been taught as well as anyone how to recite his name and tag number to keep fear and pain at bay, but here, with Steve, he repeats something entirely different in his head:

 _’Safe. Steve has me. He loves me. Safe, I’m safe, I’ve never been more safe. I’m_ his _and he’ll always look after me. Please, take away the fear. Show me you love me. Mark me until everyone knows. Break me and rebuild me because if they’re_ your _hands I know nothing can go wrong.'_

What really comes out is a faint whine.

“So beautiful like this, Bucky.” Steve’s voice is predatory and dark, the way he gets when he sees something he _really_ likes. Bucky knows that if only he were allowed to look, Steve’s cock would be standing thick and proud, red against the pale skin of Steve’s stomach. Part of the brunet wishes he was wearing a circle gag so he could choke on that cock, but that’s not in the cards today. If they’re not too tired after this, he’ll suck Steve off until Bucky’s throat is raw and coated in come. “Wish I could put you on the top of that tree, hmm? Prettier than an angel and more dangerous besides. Let everyone see my marks on you, keep you waiting for me so I can carry you down anytime I like…”

The image doesn’t make sense logically, but it’s hot nonetheless; Bucky waiting for Steve in the common room bound like a trimmed tree, mouth open and skin chilled, smelling like candy while Steve walks around nonchalantly, letting the others wonder until Steve comes to claim him, eyes dark and a snarl on his lips. Spearing Bucky open with his cock, making him come until the pearly strands glisten in the lights of the brilliant candles…

“Pay attention!” Steve barks sharply. He snaps the crop sharply against Bucky’s ass; grabs his hair painfully to shake him back into reality. It’s all Bucky can do to keep himself upright and now his breath is coming in gasps as he returns to staring at himself in the mirror. His cheeks have already begun to flush and his hair is a tousled wreck. Most of his body smarts and the rope, such as it is, chafes. The bar between his knees forces him into an awkward position, putting strain on his thighs and hips. His only other choice would be to lie with his forehead pressed to the ground, but then he wouldn’t be able to see the mirror.

Steve gets into position behind the brunet, settling with his legs on the inside so he can drape his weight over Bucky’s back; the world’s most comforting blanket. Before he makes another move, Steve finds the fingers of Bucky’s left hand and slips two of his own into Bucky’s grip.

“Too tight?” He waits for Bucky’s three squeezes—no. “I’m moving on to these…” He holds up one nipple clamp where Bucky can see it, all without looking away from his own reflection. “Color?” 

It’s always three for green, two for yellow, one for red. They want to be able to respond to the need to stop faster than waiting for a green. Steve waits to feel three squeezes before pulling away, returning immediately to his role.

Steve settles behind Bucky so that the brunet can feel the warmth radiating off him like a furnace, so close that his fingers are now brushing against flesh. In contrast to the heat, Bucky’s skin breaks out in goosebumps as Steve’s hands skate over his chest, sometimes avoiding the star, sometimes working his hands under the ropes to offer temporary reprieve from the irritating bite. The blond’s hands converge on their true targets: Bucky’s nipples. Nails scrape lightly over sensitive flesh, catching on the slowly hardening buds. Steve massages Bucky’s pecs for a while, pinching and pulling his nipples until Bucky is pushing his chest into the touch, pulling at his own restraints in his quest for more. The chafing rope feels like a brand across his skin and his instinctive attempt to pull his knees together only serves to make his muscles ache more. He can feel sweat condense on his back and his eyes widen when he feels Steve’s tongue lap up a few gathered drops. Just when Bucky thinks he might cry from the onslaught, Steve twists his nipples cruelly, forcing a muffled shout from the brunet. Steve places the nipple clamps firmly on his lover, turning that spike of pain into a long pull. Wrists, shoulders, chest, nipples, legs, jaw… Hell, right under his chest and the still-smarting roots of his hair. While Bucky can take a lot in the field, this isn’t the same at all and he’s almost at his limit. He’s embracing it, though. Everything that Steve wants to give him and more, he’ll take it all and say “thank you” because it’s what he wants and what Steve knows he needs.

“Don’t you dare look away.” Steve’s voice rumbles in his chest and Bucky shivers at the confident tone. This is part of his Stevie that only _he_ gets to see. _He_ is the one making Steve’s ‘Captain America’ persona slip, peeling away even the sweet inner layers to lay bare the confident, strident man Bucky has always known was at Steve’s core. 

Steve uses a combination of the harness and shoving Bucky’s knees carelessly with his foot to turn him until his left side faces the mirror. He unceremoniously shoves the brunet between the shoulder blades to pitch him forward, Bucky’s bindings rendering him completely unable to catch himself. He manages to slow his fall by tightening his core, though it only buys him enough time to brace his forehead on the floor so he can keep from suffocating. Not that Steve would allow any such thing, but the illusion is there. He can still feel Steve’s phantom touch on his back. And then Steve does it:

“Third time you disobeyed me. Think hard about what you did wrong, pet.” A fresh wave of pain washes over Bucky as Steve uses the riding crop to tap firmly against the tender skin behind the brunet’s balls, completely exposed thanks to the spreader between his knees. Tears spring to Bucky’s eyes as he struggles to think. He can hear Steve flexing the crop and knows the blond is counting seconds—probably to five; Steve usually counts to five. Bucky flinches preemptively when five seconds have gone by, but Steve waits for the anticipation to turn to confusion before delivering another stern tap with the leather tip. Steve doesn’t even hit hard enough for the crop to make a sound, but a jolt shoots through Bucky’s entire body, making even the tips of his ears tingle. He can feel adrenaline buzzing in his system.

Steve trails the crop lightly down Bucky’s bound hands, between the crack of his ass, and back to his balls. “Figure it out yet?” Steve sounds deceptively bored.

It comes to him in a rush: The mirror. He’s been ordered to watch the mirror. With a little effort, he turns his head so he can see himself again, face red, spit slicking his chin and dribbling now to the floor, ass in the air for Steve’s perusal, skin bright pink under the rope. His vision starts to go blurry and he moans.

Another sharp tap, this one harder than the others, hits him, and suddenly all that pain pulls tight before spooling into pleasure, the two co-existing and fighting for dominance in Bucky’s body. His eyes start to glaze over and thinking becomes harder than ever. Keep your eyes on yourself: he can remember that. He jerks and moans when Steve delivers a swift slap across one butt cheek, once again open-handed.

“The other one was not to make a damn sound. Fucking clear yet?”

Fuck, _fuck_ Bucky loves it when Steve curses. He focuses on Steve’s voice as another spank shivers pleasure through his body.

“I’m going to fuck you with this first, because you don’t deserve my fingers, do you?” Steve leans in so Bucky can see a vibrating dildo almost Steve’s size. “Want me to fill you with this? Stretch you out so you can take my cock?”

Bucky catches himself at the last minute and just nods his consent.

“I want you to come on my cock alone, do you understand? If you come while playing with this, you’ll get nothing at all. I’ll leave you in your own come while I take care of myself on the bed _without you._ You’ll only be able to hear me. Or maybe I should do it in the bathroom so you don’t even get that little tidbit.” He didn’t think he could, but Bucky gets even harder. His dick is already leaking an embarrassingly large amount of precum, staining the carpet under him. He can see it glisten in the mirror; a long, continuous strand stretching from the tip of his cock to the floor.

Steve contemplates the toy for a moment before going around to Bucky’s front, idly reaching down to tweak one of the clamps, making the little bell chime. Bucky’s breath stutters and his muscles strain in an effort not to move. Steve smiles. “Good. That’s my good boy.” Bucky wants to purr under the praise, but the gag prevents him from doing that and he’s been told to stay quiet besides. Steve rolls the toy in the warm spit flowing freely from Bucky’s mouth, which perversely makes Bucky’s mouth water even more as the images of Steve’s cock tracing his lips pop unbidden into his mind. Steve plants a soft kiss to Bucky’s forehead before flicking at the other clamp on his way back. Bucky squeaks when he feels Steve’s warm tongue at his hole, lapping sweetly and working the tight muscle until it loosens under his ministrations. Just as the brunet starts to relax, the feeling of Steve’s warm breath vanishes and the toy, cold and wet now, slams into Bucky as far as it will go. He lets out a muffled scream, and then another one when Steve spanks him as punishment, forcing Bucky’s muscles to clench so the toy feels even bigger than before. He can see Steve standing up in the mirror, expression unreadable. And then, without any warning or even a windup, he flicks the crop out and hits the toy just hard enough to switch the settings up, pushing it even further into Bucky’s ass and filling the brunet with hard, almost uncomfortable vibrations. Whatever Steve bought is _powerful_.

Bucky heaves harsh, panting breaths around his gag and whines high in his throat.

“I thought we went over this,” Steve says with disappointment. “Three blows. And don’t tense into them, or I’ll have to add a fourth.” He pauses for a moment, waiting for any sign that Bucky is uncomfortable. Bucky nods slightly and sways his hips invitingly.

He does well for the first two, he really does. Steve spanks him just shy of bruising, which both hurts and keeps driving the toy deeper until the vibrations begin to feel painful and, ironically, the smack of skin on skin is a relief—anything to distract him from the toy in his ass. But the third blow he accidentally braces for, remembering too late his warning. Steve just gets up and, calm as you please, delivers another one of those sharp snaps of the crop against Bucky’s balls, now red and straining.

God, it’s good, so good, _too_ good. Bucky stops seeing anything for a second while he fights down the need to come. He can feel his orgasm pulsing through him, looking for a way out, but he absolutely refuses, even though he wants it so badly; even though he’s shaking apart at the seams. His climax recedes and leaves frustration and pain in its wake, Bucky’s member pulsing in time with his racing heart.

“That’s good. You did well,” Steve praises. “Take it so well for me, so beautifully. Just two more minutes, and then I’ll give you what you need.” He slips his fingers into Bucky’s hand again, waiting for an affirmative that Bucky is only just present enough to give. The bastard even has a small hourglass that he flips over right by the mirror, where Bucky can see it. Then he fiddles with the settings on the toy, fucks Bucky a few times with it—shallow, teasing pumps—and leaves. The vibrations have changed to gentle, pulsing hums that make it feel almost like he’s being fucked and it’s definitely not helping his self-control any. He has no idea where Steve’s gone, which means the other man could be watching. Bucky is already covered in sweat and half out of his mind with need. He fights his restraints, but it only earns him more friction burns. Attempting to pulls his legs together forces him to clench, intensifying the vibrations. He flexes his aching jaw and falls into a trance where the combination of his body’s intense heat, the echoes from the strikes, the ever-present burn of the ropes, and the spikes of pleasure wrought from the toy bubble together until the difference is obliterated. Mind and body reach an accord and Bucky lets the heady mix swamp him, ceasing to fight or even care except to embrace the pleasure with everything he is. 

By the time Steve returns, Bucky’s eyes have glazed over and helpless little whimpers leave his throat at intervals. His gaze is fixed on his own debauched expression, wondering idly who the person in the mirror is and why they look so completely _wrecked_.

Steve leans down to turn off the toy and ease it gently out of Bucky’s ass, petting his back soothingly. Bucky’s hole gapes, trying to close on something that isn’t there, and the brunet shudders but otherwise doesn’t make a sound. Steve walks around to undo the gag, brushing his fingers through the tracks of tears across Bucky’s cheeks.

“Hey there,” Steve says softly. Bucky struggles to focus. _Steve_. Steve is here and he… Bucky can’t really remember. Steve will want something, and if Bucky is good Steve will take care of him, make this all better even though it’s already wonderful. No, that’s wrong. Steve _always_ thinks Bucky is good, but if Bucky does what Steve wants right now, if he gives himself over, Steve will give him something wonderful in return. And Bucky wants that. He wants Steve to take care of him, and he wants to take care of Steve.

“You’re so pretty,” Steve murmurs. He strokes Bucky’s jaw and helps the brunet sit back as much as he can, tilting his chin up to pepper kisses all over his face. “So beautiful like this, open and waiting for me. Do you want me to fill you up? Hmmm? Make you choke on my cock and then wait ‘til I’m ready again so I can fill your greedy ass? Is that what you’d like?”

Even in his haze, the image makes Bucky’s breath hitch. Steve, powerful and towering above him, using Bucky any way he sees fit… He moans brokenly and opens his mouth, but Steve pauses with one hand in Bucky’s hair.

“Hey, I need you to use words, doll,” Steve tells him gently. “Check in with me.” All the blond gets in return is a glassy look and a dopey half-smile. Dropping the bulk of his harshness, Steve removes the ribbon to keep Bucky from choking, and then the nipple clamps for good measure.

“You need to come, don’t you, sweetheart?” Steve murmurs. Bucky thinks he nods, but he’s not sure. He _does_ want so badly to come, and he’s so incredibly grateful that Steve’s seen it. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Bucky’s breath shudders as he nods again. He can feel Steve pumping himself, getting hard again all for his best guy.

Steve kisses his lover hard, pushing his breath into Bucky’s lungs and forcing the brunet to inhale deeply before he faints from lack of air. He has to be careful from here on—Bucky has the glassy look about him that says he’s almost fully under. Steve can push him to subspace and keep him there, but it’ll be tricky not to hurt him at the same time. The blond loves him too much not to give Bucky what he needs, though, so careful it is.

When he’s hard enough, Steve circles back around to push Bucky’s head to the floor, forcing the brunet’s hips up, presenting his puckered hole to the blond. Shivering at the portrait Bucky makes like this, Steve seals his mouth over Bucky’s rim and licks enthusiastically, eventually flicking his tongue in past the muscle and sucking. Bucky jerks under him and makes a slurred noise, hips faintly pushing back into the pressure of Steve’s mouth. The blond doesn’t bother correcting him; Bucky is too far gone to know what he’s doing or be punished over rules. He probably has been for a while; honestly, Steve is surprised he was still able to nod and thought he’d have to call things off early. Now, all Bucky can do is moan brokenly and twitch under Steve’s hands, holding on to only two commands: look in the mirror and _don’t come_.

After Bucky’s hole is lax and pliant, Steve works lube into the other man, fingering him to more easily take the blond’s girth. He briefly considers using a condom—the cleanup will be easier if he does—but Bucky is always happier, always flies higher when Steve paints his insides with come, and Steve wants this to be as good as he can make it. As soon as he judges Bucky to be ready, he ghosts a kiss across the brunet’s hip and slides in.

Being in Bucky is a little like coming home. Everything feels warm and perfect and right; his soul settles the slightest bit, Bucky’s body shifts to welcome him, and things just click into place. Without fail, Steve loses his mind. One of them has to stay sane, so Steve won’t let himself be swept away, but it’s difficult to hold back. There have been nights when he’s let go, but never with things so new or with Bucky quite so helpless, and Steve simply won’t risk his lover’s safety. He keeps himself planted firmly in the present and pistons his hips, dripping sweat and gasping sharply for air as he angles to ram Bucky’s prostate with every stroke. The brunet keeps watching them both in the mirror, expression slack as he utters one long, breathy pitch punctuated only by Steve’s thrusts. The blond speeds up, conversely soothing his hands over Bucky’s sweating back, feeling them both trembling and ready to break. Taking a deep breath, Steve grabs hold of the shining silver harness and drapes himself over Bucky’s back.

“Come for me, Buck,” he hisses, and snaps his hips forward. Firming his grip, he listens to Bucky keen and repeats himself, “ _Come_ ,” and arcs back, grinding himself as deep as he can while Bucky quietly sobs his release.

Every thrilling sensation writhing under Bucky’s skin turns into sharp, glassy points that tunnel under his flesh, through his veins and filling him completely. Everything slows around him, turning dreamy and surreal as the white-hot roar of his orgasm floods him. He can feel Steve filling him in so many ways: his words, his dick, his come. And he’s been waiting for so long, waiting for Steve, his Stevie, first, always first. Bucky will take care of him and he’ll take care of Bucky and it’s perfect, so perfect when Steve’s voice echoes through him and gives his blessing, gives Bucky his _pleasure_.

Bucky comes until he’s breathless, until the sweat pools in the small of his back and his face is flush with effort, until he runs dry and _still_ his body attempts to wring more from him so that his pleasure needs no end. Steve works him through it, reaching down to provide more relief to Bucky’s spurting cock. He’s already working Bucky free of the restraints when the brunet’s intense shaking subsides to fine tremors: first the spreader bar, then the knots of the harness fall away. Steve keeps petting the weeping brunet between passes, shushing and comforting in low, hushed tones.

Ignoring the mess of toys and come on the floor, Steve cleans them both up quickly before scooping Bucky into his arms and tucking them both into bed, pulling the blankets around them to trap the warmth against Bucky’s quaking form. He praises the other man, pouring love into every word and running hands all over his body. Steve kisses away his tears and cradles him close, until Bucky begins to stir and the tears start all over again. Making sympathetic noises, Steve holds Bucky even tighter and rocks him gently.

“It’s okay, Buck. You did so well, so good for me, my perfect, beautiful doll. I love you. Shhh. I love you so much, you did so well…” Steve paints his own lips with the dark raspberry jam Bucky loves so much before kissing his lover, tricking the other man into lapping up the tart sweetness between them. The sugar helps revive him somewhat, so Steve takes a piece of chocolate along with the jam next time, melting them together in his mouth before feeding the mixture to Bucky. Interspersed with room-temperature water, Steve keeps up their aftercare ritual until Bucky’s tears subside and he’s able to eat the jam-coated chocolate squares on his own. Steve lets him hold the open water bottle and hand-feeds chocolate to the brunet to control the pace. Occasionally Bucky pouts, trying to refuse the extra calories, but Steve is nothing if not persistent. He nuzzles Bucky’s temple, presses butterfly kisses to his jaw, mouths playfully at the bridge of the brunet’s nose until he relents and accepts the next bite.

By the time an entire bar of chocolate and bottle of water are gone, Bucky is definitively back in his own skin. Steve massages aloe into the rope burns marring his lover and savors the warm glow of Bucky’s tired but happy smile.

“You okay?” Steve keeps his voice low and ducks his head to nose behind Bucky’s ear, taking in the smell of clean sweat and sex.

“Mmm. More than.” Bucky shifts until he’s reaching behind himself to cup Steve’s head against his shoulder comfortingly. Steve always worries that he might take things too far, and he needs reassurance as much as Bucky does, as soon as the brunet can handle it. “Thank you, Stevie. I needed that.”

Steve gently butts his forehead against Bucky’s jaw before burying his face in the crook of his neck. “I love you, Buck.” He rolls his head so he can peer coyly from beneath long blond lashes. “And happy holidays.”

Bucky groans and leans back onto Steve’s shoulder, blinking at the ceiling. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the reflection of tinsel glimmering on the floor. Dear God, he’ll never be able to look a Christmas tree in the face again. A smile pulls at his lips and threatens to break over his face. 

“Happy holidays, punk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please always be safe and know your limits if you’re going to practice BDSM. Steve and Bucky have already negotiated their limits here, and they’re supersoldiers so their pain tolerance is ridiculously high (I mean, they get slammed through walls without bruising, so…). Also, please do NOT use tinsel as rope. It’s a terrible idea. Like, a really bad one. These two are only getting away with it because, again, _supersoldiers_.


	7. Gift Wrapping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm well aware that this chapter is both shorter and less smutty than the others. ...I have no excuses. Just fluff.

For once, Steve agrees with Bucky’s impatience.

He sees the logic in it, of course, and if they’d grown up differently they probably wouldn’t think twice now. But as it stands, Steve can only see the excess of waste strewn across the largest dining table in Avenger’s Tower.

Because the Avengers are wrapping gifts. It’s not as if he and Bucky hadn’t exchange gifts, or that they hadn’t wrapped them. It’s just that they tended to reuse paper they already had—none of this special roll of print kind of thing. Yes, it was around, but that was a luxury neither of them could afford. Still, Steve can at least understand the _why_ of it, and in this case, the importance. Sometimes the appearance really _does_ matter. As the pile of completed gifts grows, he gets a warm little feeling inside. These presents in particular are going to a local hospital, and the cheerful paper certainly will certainly lighten up the darker aspects of being away from home. 

He also notices that everyone on the team has a different approach to wrapping gifts. Tony is enthusiastic, his creases present but not sharp and every gift topped with an appalling amount of ribbon. Thor’s are often wrinkled but no less enthusiastic, paper sometimes doubling over on itself and even pooching out at the corners. Clint’s are held together with entirely too much tape; Sam’s with so little that they keep peeling open at the seams. Natasha is ruthlessly efficient, producing things worthy of being in department store windows. As a personal touch, she always adds eight short pieces of ribbon—Clint’s idea, not hers, but the archer had insisted that the point of the whole exercise was to make them look _loved_. Natasha had rolled her eyes but done it anyway, which was a close to telling Clint he was right as anyone was liable to get. Pepper and Rhodey were there as well, although Pepper was simply handing Tony tape while she did business on a tablet. The Colonel wraps his gifts so slow it’s almost painful, always paying close attention to the corners for reasons no one can discern. He keeps pulling the paper too tight and punching holes in it, resulting in Tony laughing and slapping tape on to patch up the tears, which causes Rhodey to bat Tony’s hands away and cover the same area with a pre-made bow. 

Steve uses everyone else’s scraps when he can, resulting in a patchwork look, and each item is tied in a bow perhaps more suited to butcher’s twine than actual ribbon to make them easier to carry by hand. Not that it matters since these will be essentially carted off in bushels, but he can’t help himself. Bucky grumbles about the waste and is chastised frequently for not using enough paper and leaving the presents open. He won’t use decoration of any kind and they’re lucky glaring daggers is only a turn of phrase because otherwise there wouldn’t be a usable gift left in the lot.

“Can’t we at least use bags? They’re reusable.” Bucky half-heartedly goes to cut more paper and adds another inch when Natasha frowns at him sternly.

“Wrapping paper is recyclable,” Tony says. He’s in the middle of curling ribbon with the same intensity he solders circuits, so he misses the baleful look Bucky aims his way. “And besides, opening a bag and reaching in isn’t half as fun as tearing something open.”

“Look at it this way: Maybe ripping the paper is kind of a therapy for the kids too,” Rhodes adds as another soft tearing noise whispers through the air. “Damn!”

“Plus you get way more hype when everyone else is digging in.” Sam sighs and gets more tape. “It’s like… Like eating an everything pizza versus a sauce-only.” Clint looks up, horrified at the thought of sauce only, but Sam just goes on. “Yeah, you’re basically getting the same thing, but one of them is way cooler and tastes better all around. Which one would you rather have, if you know both kinds exist?”

“Well, there are bags here. I’m using bags,” Bucky declares. He’s been so reluctant about the whole process that he doesn’t have that many done in the first place.

“At least put ribbons on them, Buck,” Steve coaxes. “No, not like that. You want the top to stay closed so they have something to open up.”

“It’s just going to get opened anyway,” Bucky grumbles, but he uses one of his knives to slot little holes in the tops of colored bags so he can thread ribbon through.

“Well the bows make them look pretty, and the anticipation is half the fun.” Steve smiles innocently when Bucky turns his glare at the blond. “Don’t tell me you don’t get excited when you don’t know what’s under the wrapping.”

“Doesn’t need so many frills, though,” the brunet sulks and, really, can’t he be at least a _little_ happier to imagine the smiles these will bring? Bucky isn’t heartless, Steve knows. He’s just being stubborn.

There’s a fix for that.

*

It starts with making out.

They're getting hot and heavy, tongues and teeth everywhere, draped across the couch while a horror movie plays, like a couple of teenagers. Bucky is desperately hard and clawing at Steve's sweater. The blond had recently taken to what everyone else referred to as the 'professor' look: knit sweaters over collared button-downs, pressed slacks, sensible shoes. As Tony said, at least it beat Steve's usual 'old man' style. When Bucky reaches for Steve’s clothes, for reasons that Bucky can't fathom, the blond says, "Sweater, you're sure?" so Bucky says "Yeah," before gripping the hem and yanking.

Steve lets the garment go, but before Bucky can attack the buttons of the white collared shirt underneath, the blond is slithering off the couch and to the floor, leaving Bucky with the navy blue sweater still in hand while Steve sucks him off. He won't let Bucky reciprocate with anything other than stroking him through his pants, and Bucky goes to bed feeling slightly cheated.

The next time they're groping each other, this time on the floor where they'd originally been lounging and drinking cocoa, Bucky gets as far as Steve's undershirt before the blond pulls away. He rims Bucky until the brunet wants to cry and gets himself off, using his own come to slick his hands when he brings Bucky to completion. Bucky is disappointed but tries not to show it-- he didn't even get to watch the show. But it _does_ start to stir some suspicion in his mind.

He tests it one night when they're stretched out together on the bed, kissing lazily. Steve's sweater (green today) is long gone and the top few buttons of his shirt are undone. Bucky reaches between them to pop the fly on Steve's pants, stroking him to full hardness. He can feel the blond's cock pulse in his grip and growls into his mouth. Steve gives a full-body shiver and _whines_.

Bucky eagerly divests Steve of his pants while the blond makes short work of his own buttons. When Bucky moves to slip down the waistband of Steve's underwear, the other man stops him with a firm grip and stuttering breath.

"Slow down," he murmurs between them. And then he gets to work, systemically removing Bucky's clothes and grinding against him sensuously. It's distracting-- so much so that the brunet is almost completely wrapped up in his own lust before he realizes that Steve is still wearing _at least_ one article of clothing too many. It takes an extraordinary amount of willpower to push Steve off of him, but be does it. The blond gives him an innocent, confused frown and tries to steal another kiss.

"No, _no_. Stevie, wait." As soon as he hears _no_ , Steve stills, although he still looks perplexed.

"Everything okay, Buck?"

"No. I mean, yes. I mean…" Steve looks more confused than ever. Bucky scrubs a hand down his face and tries to line up his thoughts. "What I mean is, why aren't you letting me see you naked? Something happen? You hurt, or, or…"

Surprisingly, Steve laughs, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Is that all? Buck, I'm not hurt or nothin'. I'm fine, I swear. You don't have to worry about this one."

This only pacifies Bucky for the span of a few kisses. "Okay, but then why are you--" He does the absolute last thing he body wants and ducks away from another kiss. "Why are you avoiding me like that?" he cries in frustration.

Steve, that fucker, just smiles. "Some things are better with anticipation." He seals his lips over the skin of Bucky's neck and sucks lightly. It's not fair that Steve is so sinfully tempting. It makes Bucky lose all focus and want to cave to the blond's ministrations.

"You…" There's something niggling at the back of Bucky's mind. Something relevant, he's sure, but hell if he can figure it out with Steve stamping a line of kisses over his left shoulder. The sharp nip of teeth is all it takes to do Bucky in, the brunet giving up his train of thought in favor of stroking the blond through his boxer-briefs and allowing himself to be palmed until he's shaking and coming in Steve's hand.

*

Bucky figures it out a couple days later, when he passes the huge tree in the communal living area and sees the various gifts sitting pretty under the green branches.

 _Son of a bitch_.

He practically drags Steve atop him that night, not even letting the blond finish the preparations for their dinner before he's kissing them both breathless. He watches Steve's pupils expand as he rakes his heated gaze down Bucky's body, and the brunet bides his time, waiting until he's down to his skivvies on the kitchen table, Steve stripped to his undergarments, to pounce.

"Is this where you're going to tell me I can only choose one?" he asks breathily. Steve is already nodding an affirmative into Bucky's shoulder when the words catch up to him. One bright blue eye rolls to twinkle up at the brunet. Bucky can feel the smirk on Steve's lips.

"Figured it out, huh?" Steve doesn't even sound repentant to have been caught.

Bucky groans. "Really, Stevie? This is about the damn bows?"

"It's about learning why a little presentation can be important to others." And how is it fair that Steve can deliver a high-handed speech while he laves his tongue across Bucky's nipples? "A couple frills here and there never hurt anyone. If you think about it, that's even why the Avengers don't wear uniforms when we assemble."

"We don't wear uniforms because Stark is a flashy asshole," Bucky grumbles, but even he can hear that his heart's not in it.

"The rest of us could wear something closer to SHIELD tac," Steve points out. "Tony aside. But." He nibbles at one of Bucky's hip bones. "We don't. Because…?"

"Couple 'a frills never hurt no one," Bucky grumbles. "Presentation, blah, blah, bla- _ah!_ "

Steve looks coyly through his lashes from where he's mouthing along the line of Bucky's cock. "Don't tell me it's not exciting to wonder what's under the wrapping," he adds. "Now, pick."

Bucky is tempted to tell Steve to shuck his shorts, but grudgingly decides to save the best for last. He's acutely aware that this just proves Steve's point _for_ him, but even that isn't enough to change the brunet's mind.

Crap. Half the fun _is_ in the anticipation.


	8. Sleigh Bells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a change of pace, this one is set with pre-serum!Steve. Before they get drafted, sometimes in the late 1930s.

“Ugh, they’re so loud,” Bucky grumbles. He and Steve stop to let a carriage, completely decked in garlands and sleigh bells, pass. Steve is bundled up from head to toe, wearing Bucky’s scarf because he’d forgotten his and trying hard not to cough in the cold air.

“I kinda like ‘em,” the blond admits. “Cheerful. It’s better than listenin’ to the normal yellin’, Leastways they can hear each other comin’.”

“Yellin’ I can take. It’s all the clatterin’ and ringin’ that I can’t.” Bucky casually drapes his arm across Steve’s shoulders and squeezes briefly. It’s not too unusual to see such good friends walking about like this, especially bantering the way they do. It _will_ be unusual if Bucky starts blushing, so he tries really hard not to. He likes it when he can touch Steve in public, and this is particularly good since he can shield the smaller man from the wind and warm him at the same time.

“’S like music,” Steve replies stubbornly. He’s grinning, though, enjoying the friendly argument. “You know, like _Jingle Bells_ or somethin’.”

Bucky groans. “Don’t get me started on that song,” he pleads. “It just keeps repeatin’ itself and every caroler this side a’ the bridge sings it _at least_ twice a round, I swear.”

“Not a fan of that song either, but it’s the principle of the thing.”

“You an’ your principles.” They both know Bucky loves Steve’s principles—it’s how they met, after all.

“I bet you’ll come around. Tis the season an’ all that.”

“Stevie, it’s been the season twenty-three times for me an’ I haven’t changed my mind in all that time. Not sure that’s something you wanna bet on.”

“No?” Steve eyes him speculatively. “Okay. Loser cleans dishes for a week.”

Steve is the most stubborn creature on the planet. There are _mountains_ less steadfast than Steve Rogers. Still, Bucky’s pretty sure of himself on this one. “You’re on. But only ‘til Christmas.”

They shake on it.

*

Bucky comes home one day to find the room heated and Steve wrapped up in blankets. At first he’s concerned—heating the place can be expensive. What if Steve took sick? But, no, Steve looks fine and it’s only just above warm in here. Maybe he doesn’t have to be so alarmed.

“Everything okay?” he asks, just to be sure.

“Yeah. I, uh…” Steve looks a little sheepish. “Been feelin’ restless lately. Thought we could do somethin’ today?” Hopeful, big blue eyes turn on Bucky. Steve is usually the patient one, but it’s not unusual for him to get cabin fever once in a while.

“Sure. Wanna draw me, or we could walk around…?” They could go to the movies, but there’s nothing new and they’re saving up for a nice holiday meal besides.

“Thought we could play a game, actually.” Steve holds out a strip of cloth. “Blind man’s bluff?”

“In the apartment? We’ll break somethin’.”

“Aw, no we won’t. It’ll be fun. Please? We haven’t played since we was in grade school.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Bucky snorts.

“Well it’s the only thing I can think of that we can play in here,” Steve grumbles. “It’s probably gonna rain today so there’s no use tryin’ to find somethin’ in the park.”

The blond has a point. Shedding his outer layers, Bucky sighs and holds out his hand for the blindfold. “All right, but just the one round.”

It’s worth it to see Steve’s face light up. “Really?”

“Just hurry up ‘fore I change my mind.”

Bucky has to lean down for Steve to tie the blindfold on properly. It’s snug and definitely does its job. Bucky feels a little thrill when Steve’s hands ghost over his face, checking that the cloth is secure.

“’Kay, ten spins,” Steve chirps.

“Ten? We used to play five.”

“Ten,” Steve repeats firmly. “You was always better than me at this, and besides, we’re older now. Gotta scramble your brains real good,” he jokes.

Muttering rhetorical questions about who’s brain is really scrambled here, Bucky waits for Steve’s presence to disappear before counting his rotations out loud.

“Nine, ten!” He really _is_ disoriented. It takes him a second to get his equilibrium back, and another few to feel around until he finds what he thinks is the door. The secret to Bucky’s constant success was that he was always very good at mapping the area in his mind, and he uses that ability now. Forcing him to get well and truly dizzy works well in Steve’s favor—despite being able to find the door, he’s not quite certain where in the room he is oriented. He takes a few hesitant steps, on high alert for the sound of footsteps or breathing.

There. Bucky whips his head around and takes a few stumbling steps. His fingertips brush against soft skin, but he’s not fast enough to grab at Steve.

Ears straining, he takes a few more steps until he bumps into the sofa. Okay, he has a better idea of where in the room he is now. Another noise alerts him and he makes a grab at the air before he’s even sure what the sound _is_. He closes his hand around something hard and cold for a moment before it’s jerked away and… and did it _jingle?_

“Stevie, what the hell you playing at?”

“Blind man’s bluff. And you’re breaking the rules by making me talk—no, don’t take off the blindfold!” He sounds so dismayed that Bucky drops his hands with a growl. He doesn’t know what Steve is plotting, but he’s not sure he’ll like it. Still, Steve doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body. Bucky resigns himself to playing along with this. Whatever it is.

His next attempt confuses him. He’s pretty sure he slips across Steve’s shoulder, but all he got was skin. It makes absolutely no sense. Next time he feels entirely too much skin, warm and soft, and what he’s one hundred percent positive is Steve’s spine. He breath quickens. He thinks he might know what’s going on, but he has to be absolutely sure.

He listens hard this time for the tiny chiming that Steve makes when he moves. To his left—there! He still isn’t able to catch the blond, but he can hear the stifled gasp when Bucky’s fingers skate across what is definitely one of Steve’s nipples, hard and sensitive under his touch. The next try is absolutely not deliberate no matter how fortuitous it is.

Bucky is fairly sure that Steve has at least one bell attached to his wrist, so when he snatches at the air next, he aims directly for the sound. His seeking hand comes in contact with something and he steps in to try to secure it. But instead of a slender wrist as he expects, he can feel the sharp jut of Steve’s hip bones. Without thinking twice, he hooks his other arm around and holds on tight. He can hear a soft whoosh of breath as he splays his hands out, wrapping them around the small body in front of him. He means to cross his arms around Steve’s waist, truly he does. But he miscalculates slightly and can feel coarse, springy hair and much hotter skin, silky and pulsing. He jerks Steve against him in a cheerful cacophony of bells and leans in until he can smell the sweet scent of Steve’s hair. He can hear the blond’s little, panting breaths and Bucky isn’t much better, heart racing.

“I won,” he manages. His voice is too low, almost a purr.

“You did.” Steve’s is high, like a plea.

Bucky hugs tighter, feeling the curve of Steve’s ass and the knobs of his spine plastered against the brunet’s chest, his stomach, his groin… Bucky swallows, dizzy with how fast he gets hard in his pants. In front of him, he hears Steve whimper as the brunet’s hand quests further south, rubbing circles in the other man’s skin until he finds his erection and takes it in hand. Steve’s breath hitches and he grinds against Bucky’s cock instinctively. Muttering curses, Bucky inches his other hand up until he finds Steve’s chest, taking one pert nipple in hand and thumbing it just to hear his lover’s pitchy moans. 

He should probably take off the blindfold, but that would mean letting go of something and Bucky’s not about to give anything up. He keeps pumping Steve in his hand; he doesn’t need to see to know just how to thumb at the blond’s leaking slit, or exactly when to twist his wrist and pinch an abused nipple in exactly the right combination to pull a whine from the blond’s sweet lips. He can hear another jingle and now the blond’s cries are muffled—he must have stuffed his hand in his mouth, the way he always does when Bucky is doing a particularly good job. The brunet can picture it: Steve’s creamy skin dusty pink in a full-body blush, his long blond lashes fluttering and his back arcing to provide Bucky with friction for his aching cock…

Another chime and Bucky can feel cool metal against the sides of his neck as Steve reaches up and behind himself to tangle his hands in his lover’s hair. Steve yanks slightly, making Bucky moan and nuzzle his face against Steve’s hair, inching lower until he finds the blond’s ear so he can lick and bite at it. A sharp sound escapes the blond and suddenly he’s breaking free of Bucky’s grip, tugging hectically at his shirt.

Bucky whips off the blindfold and has his shirt off before he can even focus properly. Steve’s hands are at his trousers, trembling as he shoves them down the brunet’s hips so his erection can spring free. Just the sight makes Steve moan, and when Bucky can finally focus he bites at his lip to keep from just shoving the smaller man down and taking him on the spot.

Steve is exactly how Bucky imagined: hair mussed, flush firmly in place, hard cock standing proud to curve up towards his stomach and glistening with the precum Bucky had already spread over it. The blond already looks slightly desperate and crashes their lips together, dragging himself closer so he can mold his body against Bucky’s, forming against him like a second skin. Absolutely everything about Steve Rogers feels like he was made to be with Bucky, from the way their mouths slot easily together to his height, which puts his ass at the perfect angle for Bucky to cup and massage to his heart’s content.

Neither man can get enough air into his lungs to sustain a long kiss, so it devolves quickly into a series of smaller, though no less greedy ones, tongues beating together and licking into each other. God, Steve is rutting against him, grinding their naked cocks together so that fire flickers up Bucky’s spine and spreads all over his body, turning his skin red with the heat of it. But when he reaches down to take them both in hand, Steve bats him away in a little jingle of metal against metal. The sounds makes Bucky notice how Steve has tied a single bell to each wrist and ankle and another dangling on a ribbon on his neck and fuck if this isn’t going to be a new fetish for Bucky in the future, seeing his Stevie in just ribbons and shiny gold.

Steve waits until Bucky makes eye contact before he places his hands on Bucky’s sides and squeezes lightly, using the grip to steady himself as he slides with deceptive grace to his knees. He nuzzles and breathes against Bucky’s erection, making it jump eagerly and leave a glistening line on Steve’s cheek ( _and damn that bell for ringing, sweet and happy, every time Steve moves his head_ ).

“Stevie…” Bucky groans. Just the feel of the blond’s hot breath and plush lips mouthing up the underside of his cock makes Bucky’s eyes roll back into his head.

“Buck.” Steve’s voice is husky and pure sex and compels the brunet to look down again. Huge blue eyes watch him, unblinking, as Steve takes the brunet into his mouth and swirls his tongue over the crown of his cock, lapping and spreading salty precum down his shaft. He works his way down gradually, sucking, throat working, moaning wantonly at the taste. When his nose is almost at Bucky’s groin, Steve’s eyes finally flutter shut and, God, he’s painfully beautiful on his knees, worshipping Bucky with his mouth. Bucky tamps down on the urge to thrust into the wet heat, but it almost doesn’t matter because Steve mimics the motion for him, pulling back an inch or so before diving back in over and over, gagging himself on Bucky’s hard cock as his hands grip the brunet’s ass to pull him in harder. Steve is so good. So, so good at this, and even Steve’s _mouth_ feels like it was built for this. If ever there were two bodies made to be together, Bucky and Steve are it.

Bucky can’t stop himself from burying his hands in Steve’s hair. He’s forced to lock his knees to keep from collapsing on the floor when Steve spreads his cheeks the slightest bit to finger at his hole, the sensation that much sharper for Steve’s perfect rhythm pumping the digit in and own to the time of his mouth. The brunet doesn’t realize his keening has steadily increased in volume until the Steve gives his hip a sharp pinch, starting a pleasure-infused yelp from Bucky, the noise finally piercing the roar of his own blood in his ears. Steve rolls a reproachful eye up at him but doesn’t stop for even a second, breathing heavily through his nose so he doesn’t have to relinquish the glorious fullness lying heavy on his tongue.

Bucky moves to bite his wrist to muffle his own whorish moans, but as soon as he bites down he thinks of a much better way to shut himself up. He glances down again, straining for a glimpse of Steve’s pretty cock and conjuring the taste of him in his memory before he slips two fingers into his mouth and starts sucking. Below him, Steve moans brokenly to watch Bucky stroke his tongue lewdly, mouth opening a fraction so he can pant around them. His free hand doesn’t stop stroking Steve’s hair or cupping the back of his head, and between the way he beats his tongue against his own hands, his high, broken whines, and Steve’s unrelenting ministration, Bucky feels his orgasm twisting tight around him.

Steve seems to sense it—he can _always_ sense it—and rearranges his hands so that the heel of one presses the other man’s frenulum while pressing two fingers in his hole and searching for…

“ _Fuck!_ ” Bucky’s grip tightens involuntarily as the heat spikes, Steve brushing his prostate just right. He _can’t_ stop the rocking of his hips now, forward into Steve’s mouth and back onto his fingers, Bucky gripping his own jaw unintentionally so that spit drips down his fingers and over his chin and he can hear the hectic clamor of bells as Steve jerks himself off to the music of Bucky’s moans filling the air.

Steve slides Bucky all the way into his throat and hums loudly, pressing his prostate with his fingers, and Bucky stops breathing for a moment before he comes hard and fast, voice an unintelligible wail around his own fingers. Steve’s throat works, swallowing Bucky’s come as fast as he can, but even _that’s_ not fast enough, white fluid leaking from the corners of his mouth. And then _Steve’s_ orgasm hits him and he’s well and truly choking around Bucky, cries forced from around the swollen flesh and the tears streaming down his eyes shouldn’t be as hot as they are but the sight alone wrings a few more seconds of breathless pleasure from Bucky before reality comes crashing back down. He can feel Steve’s come striping his legs and he pulls away, no matter how badly he wants to just rest there and bask in the warmth of Steve’s mouth, so the blond can wheeze air into his starving lungs. Before Steve’s orgasm has fully passed, Bucky is kneeling so he can kiss the blond within an inch of his life. He tastes himself on Steve, licks his own come from Steve’s face, and the blond whimpers in his mouth.

They pull away with a sigh, Bucky still dizzy from the shock of his climax and from locking his legs for too long. Steve curls into the brunet’s chest, breath fanning out, warm on already overheated skin, sweat slicking his forehead and making it hard to gain purchase. Bucky shifts to put Steve’s head on his shoulder to brace the smaller man, and Steve gives a pleased hum.

Steve is considering the merits of what’s sure to be a cold shower versus the need to be clean when Bucky speaks.

“I don’t remember that game being quite that fun.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “Some things get better with age.”

Another long silence.

“So?” Steve grins up at Bucky. He’s decided that a cold shower will be fine if Bucky joins him, but he wants to hear something first.

“So…? What?”

Steve isn’t fooled by Bucky’s innocent tone. He stares the older man down until Bucky deflates. His eyes look anywhere but at Steve.

“I lost the bet,” he admits.

“Yes!”

Bucky can’t even be angry. Losing is more fun than he remembers, too. “Maybe you can keep one of these?” He flicks he bell around Steve’s neck just to hear it ring.

“Sure thing, Buck.”

*

_Tower, present day._

Steve walks into their room a week before Christmas. Bucky knows it’s him without having to look up, just by the way Steve’s presence fills the room. But today there’s something else: a soft jingling noise.

The bell is attached to a leather collar this time, but no less sexy for it.

“Special occasion?” Bucky aims for nonchalant, but it _could_ be ruined by the way his voice cracks at the end.

“Mmm. I just happened to remember that you like the sound of sleigh bells…”


	9. Christmas Movies

“ _How_ many?” Bucky drops his handful of popcorn in shock. Luckily, his hand is still over the bowl.

“Five? It’s a marathon!” Clint defends. “It’s in the name! ‘Christmas movie marathon.’ If we were only going to watch one or two, I would have called it ‘Christmas movie special’ or ‘double-up on Christmas!’ or something.”

“Besides, don’t pretend you’ve seen any of these,” Tony adds. He’s already set up with pillows and blankets everywhere, a bowl of popcorn by one hand and three types of candy lined up by the other, like a king on his movie-watching throne. “You’re both so behind that it should all be shiny and new. And they’re _all_ classics. Vetted them myself.”

“No you didn’t, I—dammit Tony!” Clint angrily throws an unpopped kernel at Tony. It bounces off the genius’s forehead and he scowls, rubbing at the spot.

“I said they’re all classics! Your precious list is intact, Barton. You don’t have to throw things around like a child.” Tony sticks his tongue out. Across the room, Clint does the same and crosses his eyes. Tony mimics him and sticks his tongue out further, opening his mouth with a loud ‘bleh!’ sound.

Natasha intervenes before things get too out of hand. “You don’t have to stay for all of it. Stop it, you two,” she snaps. Clint and Tony strive to look as innocent as possible. She turns back to the supersoldiers. “But you really should watch _A Christmas Story_. And _Miracle on 34th Street_. They’re probably the most frequently referenced ones. It’ll explain why Tony gave you a red BB gun.” The last is directed to Bucky.

“ _Miracle_ was released in ’47. It’s on The List.” Sam nods towards the wall currently projecting a real-time video of Times Square. “Maybe we should start with that one?”

“What kind of person do you take me for? Roll it, JARVIS.”

_:Of course, Agent Barton.:_

If they suspend their disbelief, _Miracle on 34th Street_ isn’t actually that bad of a movie. It certainly makes more sense than the lives that he and Bucky lead now, and unlike them, Gwynn’s character at least helped people without resorting to violence.

Bucky manages to sit still through _Christmas Story_ even though Steve can see him getting agitated when some of the jokes get old, like the ‘trophy’ gag and especially the child poking his own eye out. It explains the red gun, though, just as Natasha had promised. It isn’t until partway through _National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation_ that he actually loses it. Steve can see Bucky’s stormy temper brewing and decides to head it off before he really gets into it.

“I think we’re gonna turn in,” he announces. Bucky shoots him a grateful look and gets up quickly.

“Awww, it’s not even seven yet! We’re still ordering Chinese and there are two movies after this one!” Well, at least they really do get that reference now.

“Maybe we can watch one of them actually _on_ Christmas?” Steve suggests. He ignores Bucky, who _has_ to be glaring daggers at his back. But Clint perks up, at least, and starts mumbling movie titles under his breath, presumably figuring out the perfect one for the occasion.

When they’re back in their apartment, Buck heaves a sigh and runs his hands through his hair, completely upsetting the ponytail he’d gathered it into. “I thought I was going to die of boredom. Thanks, Stevie.”

“No problem. But, you know, I kinda liked it. How often do we get to watch with the whole team?”

“That’s part of the problem. I’d rather it just be the two of us most of the time. Don’t get me wrong—the team is great, and I’m all about bonding or cohesion or whatever it is you call it. It’s just… _all_ of them? At once? For six hours without a single thing to hit?”

“Well, I liked the first one.”

“I do kinda miss the old flicks. I don’t get some of the new stuff. And I know we got our choice of things to watch, but sometimes the black-and-whites are just… comforting.”

Steve can commiserate. “Well, Clint was able to find at least one thing you liked, right? I’m sure there’s something out there. We just have to find it.”

“Good luck with that, pal. Might not find it ‘til next Christmas.”

Steve watches Bucky gesture to their projection screen so JARVIS can unfreeze the frame and he can watch his latest guilty pleasure show—Ancient Aliens. Something about a man ranting about the presence of aliens in already explained events while never touching on the topics of very _real_ aliens is endlessly amusing to the brunet. Steve’s eyes look towards the screen, but he’s seeing something entirely different.

“You know, maybe not.”

*

It occurs to Steve that he could probably get his desired effect just by having JARVIS find actual films based on Bucky’s likes and dislikes as well as the pattern of his… he doesn’t know. Eye tracking to the points that interest him most? He’s pretty sure he heard that there was technology like that nowadays. But this is just so much more satisfying in a way that could never be.

A lot more fun, too.

“You know the signal, right?”

_:Of course, Captain.:_

“And Tony won’t be able to get hold of this.”

_:While normally I would say that Sir could find any digital information he desires, unless he is directly monitoring individual activities within your timeframe, there will be nothing for him to find. I shall stream the data directly without needing even temporary storage.:_

“Okay… good.” He’s not stupid, but Steve is already stressed out and just about everything from ‘no’ onward is a blur of sound in his mind. He takes a deep breath and stretches out on Bucky’s side of the bed, breathing in the scent of the other man to calm himself. He truly doesn’t mean to fall asleep.

*

Bucky smiles to himself when he finds Steve sleeping on his side of the bed, wrapped up in what looks like a brand-new, forest green robe. Seeing Steve wrapped around one of Bucky’s pillows is probably one of the most adorable things he’s seen in his life. The blond frowns slightly in his sleep and, well, can’t have that. Bucky is in here to wake him up for dinner anyway, so he slinks into the bed to gently pry the pillow away from Steve.

It doesn’t budge.

Bucky suppresses a snort of laughter and tries pushing it toward Steve, hoping to gain enough ground to be able to slip it through lax arms. But, no, the blond just hugs it tighter and curls in a little, expression easing, and now Bucky’s hand is caught. 

He doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or die of cuteness. With enough gradual force, he’s able to regain the use of his hand. Time for a change of tactics. He stretches out on his side, propped up on his elbow so he can still hover over Steve. He brushes the fingers of his right hand gently over the curve of Steve’s jaw, touch so light as to be barely there. Then down the center of Steve’s forehead to the tip of his nose; around those beautiful lips, until he repeats the motion. On his third pass, when he reaches Steve’s mouth, he’s surprised when the blond’s lips part to catch his finger, sealing around it give it a light suck while his tongue swirls around it. Bucky’s breath immediately hitches when he sees the coy look the freshly-awakened Steve gives him. He bites down only hard enough for Bucky to feel the impression of teeth before pulling away completely. The brunet quickly presses his advantage, swooping in for a kiss. He means for it to be just another wake-up kiss, but Steve won’t let him go.

Wrapping him up in a firm grip, Steve anchors Bucky to him and kisses like if he just does it hard enough, he can make Bucky come from that alone. And, Jesus, if it were possible he would have achieved it with how pornographic and deep his kisses become. It has Bucky fully hard and aching within a minute, moaning shamelessly into Steve’s mouth. He doesn’t even fight the hands removing his clothes, slow and sensuous, running over every bit of skin as it’s revealed. He gets Bucky good and naked before letting the blond anywhere close to his robe.

Bucky’s earlier lessons on anticipation are still with him, though, so he doesn’t mind quite as much when he has to wait to peel Steve’s clothing open like the gift he is. Bucky unties the robe and slides his hands under the opening so he can hold Steve’s waist while he nudges open the front of the robe with his arms and… _oh_.

Steve catches the greedy expression on the other man’s face as he takes in what he sees underneath him: Steve, showered and shaved smooth all over, a bow wrapped around his chest to cover his nipples and a red thong that with ties on the side, also knotted into bows. Bucky groans appreciatively and kisses Steve hard.

“You’re gonna kill me, Rogers, waitin’ here like that in my bed.”

“Well, you tried it all first and seemed to like it, so I took the risk of getting a blade so close and—”

Bucky cuts him off with another kiss. Each one is like a drink of water after long hours in the sun. “It’s not just that, although don’t get me wrong, it’s a good look on you.” Bucky runs a finger up Steve’s inner leg to feel how smooth the skin is there. He can’t wait to see under that thong. “It’s all of it. You set all this up, didn’t you?”

“Well, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Steve admits. He lets Bucky help him slide his arms out of his sleeves and claims another kiss. “For everything else… guilty as charged. Thought it would get you into the holiday spirit.”

“Well it’s gonna get me into _something_. Or maybe some _one?_ ” Steve shoves Bucky’s shoulder playfully and gives an exaggerated groan of exasperation.

“It was all romantic and you had to go ruin it. What am I gonna do with you, Buck?”

“I can think of a few things.” Steve is opening his mouth to chastise again when Bucky smirks and seals his lips over the silky fabric covering the other man’s nipples. He tongues where he knows by memory the darker skin will lie and is rewarded when Steve hisses and arcs up into him, nipple hardening under Bucky’s ministrations. Bucky slides his hand under the little bridge Steve’s back makes and holds him there long enough to use his other hand to push at the arms of the robe. He _could_ just tell Steve what he wanted to do, but his mouth is entirely preoccupied at the moment.

Luckily, Steve gets the message and soon enough the robe is lying discarded on the bed. Bucky comes to brace himself over the blond, sitting back to gain access to his other nipple, raking blunt nails down his sides while he teases it until it’s as hard as the first, blowing cool air over the twin wet spots there. He uses his teeth to pull one end of the simple bow, unraveling it slowly while his thumbs sweep circles over Steve’s hips. He pulls the whole thing free to the blond’s throaty moans and noses the ends away from Steve’s body until they pool on the bed. Humming with satisfaction, he nibbles his way across the skin of the other man’s chest, circling and teasing, pleased to taste the sweat starting to form on his lover’s body. He reaches down and squeezes Steve’s erection just as he bites down on one sensitive nipple and Steve cries out brokenly, hands flying up to frame his face, gripping at the pillow under his head and arching again, pushing his body closer to Bucky’s obliging mouth. Steve’s legs spread wantonly and if that’s not an invitation then Bucky isn’t sure what is. He sidles into the welcoming space and grinds himself down, feeling the thin silk barrier between their cocks. Steve whines loudly, surprising the brunet with the force of it. He can feel Steve’s muscles jump as he bites his lips and starts to pant out of proportion to Bucky’s actions.

Testing a theory, Bucky rocks his hips even harder, pushing Steve’s ass into the bed. This time the blond whimpers and his eyes fly open to give Bucky a desperate look. For some reason his gaze flicks up for a second before he’s closing those blue eyes and moaning louder than ever, and now Bucky needs to be in him almost desperately. He undoes one side of the thong with his teeth, the same way he unwrapped Steve’s perfect chest, and then moves to the other side. Steve can’t stop grinding himself into the mattress or, for some reason, staring at the ceiling and averting his eyes by turns, like whatever he sees there is too much. Bucky has a hypothesis for the former, though. He gets the now-loose silk nice and wet, mouthing Steve’s cock through the fabric before pushing it aside with his tongue, tasting the warm, heated skin, working his way down until he can lap at Steve’s freshly-shaved balls and again at the root of him. Steve shifts restlessly, obviously not content with only Bucky’s teasing.

There’s a good solution for that, though. He slides his hands under Steve’s hips, pausing to massage the curve of his ass before spreading his legs wide and twisting Steve just so, until he’s on his stomach. Bucky gives a gentle tug on Steve’s hips and the blond complies eagerly, getting up on all fours so his ass is closer to Bucky’s face.

Bucky’s fucking _loves_ being right.

Steve has a plug stuffed in him, lube generous enough to still be glistening all around the rim. Bucky groans at the sight and has to stroke himself a few times just to alleviate the pressure of his cock. He bites Steve’s ass and brings both hands up to spread the blond’s cheeks so he can nibble down the small of his back, over his tailbone and all around the toy. The quiver of Steve’s hole tries to suck in the base of the plug, skin going taut with the motion. Steve is making broken little noises.

“Buck, _please_. Don’t tease me no more. Oh, _God!”_ Steve voice rises to a wail as Bucky rocks the plug in his ass, angling it down to hit Steve’s prostate. He can feel the blond’s legs tremble under the onslaught and smiles to himself.

“Well, since you went through all this trouble and you _did_ say please…” Bucky works the toy out of Steve’s body and can’t stop himself from tracing the line of Steve’s loose, fluttering hole, so slick and waiting for him. By the size of the toy, Steve is more than ready, but he still has to make sure. The way the three fingers Steve easily accepts brush against the blond’s prostate are purely coincidence.

“Now, now, _please_ now,” Steve begs, and, oh, doesn’t his Stevie beg so pretty?

He withdraws his fingers and uses the extra lube along with his own precum to slick himself up. “How do you want it, doll?” he murmurs, kissing the head of his cock to Steve’s eager hole. He eases in. “Nice and easy?” When he’s halfway buried, he grips Steve’s hips and snaps his own forward, punching Steve’s breath out of his lungs. “Or hard and fast?”

“T-that one, hard, Buck, _God_.”

“Just the one name is fine,” he grins. Before Steve can say anything else, he pulls out so he’s barely still inside and slams home with more force than before. It makes Steve howl and that sets Bucky off, pulling halfway out to drag the hard ridge of his crown over Steve’s prostate before claiming the blond’s body again. Steve bows his back beautifully, tossing his head back for a moment to expose the graceful arc of his neck and that just spurs Bucky on, determined to make Steve feel nothing but him for the rest of the night.

It isn’t long before Steve shoots out a hand to splay against their headboard, gaining him the leverage to push back and meet Bucky’s thrusts, but to Bucky’s surprise there’s a flicker on the wall and—

He doesn’t know what he’s seeing at first. Two men, flush and misted with sweat, the darker of the two on his knees so he can take the other one from behind, rocking in violently enough to shake the bed, the blond one trembling and lips kiss-bruised, lower lip pinched between his teeth as his eyes roll back in ecstasy. The angle changes, zooms in so Bucky can see a thick, glistening cock disappearing into the ass of the willing man beneath him. At first he wonders if Steve decided that adding porn in the bedroom was somehow a good idea, but then he gets a better look at the curve of the bottom’s buttocks and the way he rocks back, angling himself to maximize his own pleasure, and it all snaps together:

It’s them. He doesn’t know how, but he’s watching them fuck, in real time, on the wall. And maybe he should be more embarrassed or… or disgusted or _something_ , but getting to watch himself take Steve with such force unexpectedly turns him on. He watches as his grip tightens around Steve’s hip and the angle shifts slightly so he can just see Steve’s wrecked face hanging between tense shoulders, pink tongue darting out to wet his lips only for his jaw to go slack whenever he gives a particularly loud moan. Bucky won’t lie—getting to see Steve from both angles is exponentially hot. He doesn’t have to wonder what expressions Steve makes—he can _see_ them. Even watching _himself_ turns him on in a way he never considered. He can see from an outsider’s perspective how lovingly his hands smooth over Steve’s skin, and the possessive claim of his thrusts, or the way he leans over Steve’s body as if to protect him. Subconsciously, he shifts Steve’s legs further apart and then angles his own body to get a better view.

It occurs to him to wonder _how_ this is happening. He doesn’t really want to look away from the wall, but he forces himself to. Just a quick scan, he tells himself. It isn’t hard to find three red, blinking lights now that he’s searching for them—cameras. He rolls his head back to the ceiling only to catch his own wrecked expression. His eyes immediately dart lower, and if he thought seeing them from the side was amazing, an overhead view is inspired. He can see the camera blinking subtly in the middle of the projection but honestly he can’t quite bring himself to care… Other than to withdraw even further so he can savor the image of sliding back into Steve’s willing body, that is.

As if seeing it all over again, he realizes how smooth Steve’s skin is, how his blush is so prominent. The perfect angles of his body or the way they look with their hips flush together. The weight of his balls, how his hair slowly grows darker with sweat, the trembling that gives away how close he is.

“How?” Bucky gasps. “What…”

Steve whines, mouth working silently. Bucky returns his attention to the projection on the wall and follows the smooth curve of Steve’s jaw.

“Thought. We could. _Ah!_ Make. Our own Christmas mov _ahhhhh!_ ” The last is said in a rush, cut off when Bucky grinds deep with a twist of his hips.

“So this is recording?” Bucky isn’t sure when it happened, but his voice has dropped to a possessive growl.

“No. No, no, _nnngh_.” Steve seems to have a problem with words when Bucky thrusts into him particularly hard. Funny, that. “Closed circuit. Stream-ing. No… recording.” The cadence of his words is dictated entirely by Bucky’s pace now.

Bucky leans in and loosely circles Steve’s cock, which is already drooling a generous amount of precum. “Why not?” he whispers.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Steve’s eyes fly open on the screen. They’re already hazy with pleasure and they go wide in surprise, then roll back as he moans at Bucky’s words. “Din’t think you’d–” A high-pitched whine as Bucky rocks deeper into him. “Din’t think you’d want it recorded.” His words blend into another needy moan.

“Why not, when you’re so fuckin’ sexy? Are you even looking at yourself?” Bucky clucks his tongue. “And you went through all the trouble…”

Steve obediently raises his eyes to the wall in front of him to see Bucky disappearing into him, and clenches his muscles instinctively. Bucky changes to shallow thrusts, keeping himself partially outside Steve so the blond can observe when he presses calloused fingers to Steve’s stretched rim, rubbing his thumbs over the sensitive flesh as he rocks in and out. Steve’s hand on the headboard fists, knuckles turning white with the strain. His breathing becomes more labored the longer he watches and finally Bucky slips one finger in beside his straining cock, making Steve shout incoherently and writhe, scraping his own prostate against Bucky’s swollen flesh so that he slams the headboard hard enough to make a dent.

“I can’t think of anything better to record than watching you come,” Bucky groans. “You’re using JARVIS, aren’t you?” Steve whimpers. Bucky assumes that’s a yes. He raises his voice. “Record please.”

If JARVIS responds, he doesn’t hear it. Bucky is too busy flipping Steve over so they can exchange long, sloppy kisses. He grabs Steve’s legs and folds them to the blond’s chest until he gets the idea and holds his own legs, holding himself open for Bucky’s pleasure. Bucky grabs the nape of Steve’s neck so he can rake blunt nails through sweat-matted blond hair, pulling until he has full access to Steve’s throat. He attacks it, biting and sucking so he can feel the vibrations of Steve’s chanting through his lips.

“Bucky, Bucky, Buck, _ah_ , please!” Tears gather at the corners of Steve’s eyes and Bucky knows he’s close, toeing the line to oversensitivity in an effort to wait for his lover. Bucky takes pity and rears back so he can brace Steve’s shin with one hand and reach down with the other to take Steve in hand. The blond sobs in gratitude and it takes only a few firm pumps of Bucky’s hand before the blond is screaming his name and coming hard between them, shaking with the violence of his orgasm, choking on his own breath as his come arcs to splash across his chest in thick white ropes. The sight pushes Bucky over the edge, his hand tightening on Steve’s leg hard enough to bruise as he shouts Steve’s name and doubles over, hips still pumping. Ecstasy, pure and unadulterated, roars through him like lightning, fogging his vision until all he can see is Steve’s face, twisted in rapture as he keeps coming. Bucky can feel his own semen fill the blond’s ass until it’s leaking back out and Steve is whining again, too sensitive but still clenching around Bucky to milk him through his orgasm.

Bucky pulls out reluctantly and helps push Steve’s legs out of the way as he drapes over the blond, uncaring of the sticky mess on his front, to share a breathless kiss. He tapers off with a series of smaller kisses and smiles at Steve, who’s still looking dazed.

“If all Christmas movies are this hot, I think I can learn to love them.”

They lock gazes and Steve’s eyes crinkle at the edges. When they view it later, the video ends with them laughing, foreheads pressed together, wrapped in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you all know, I imagine Clint's Christmas Movie Marathon including Miracle on 34th Street, A Christmas Story, Home Alone (first only), How the Grinch Stole Christmas (the animated one), and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (Rankin & Bass). He considered Die Hard and National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, but they’re both too close to what the Avengers do on a daily basis so he passed them by. He also avoided anything older than Miracle because that borders on time when Steve and Bucky would have been in the war and he doesn’t want to bring up those kinds of things over the holidays. Clint is so nice. :)


	10. Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So while this might be a few hours late, consider it that gift you forgot was hiding under the tree!

It’s all over the media: Angel Sighted in Manhattan. Fanatics of all kinds—from aliens to fairies to religion and everything in between—swarm the streets to watch the skies, looking for the ‘angel.’ Strangely, the Avengers have been called in on this one, mostly because _something_ unauthorized went through the airspace and SHIELD wants to know what. None of the Iron Man suits were used and Angel (the real one, not the conceptual kind) was verified to be in Xavier Academy upstate at the time of the sighting. Warren would have been a convenient excuse, but even the manned Sentinels vouched for him. It will be a cold day in Hell before any Sentinel, even ones piloted by agents, willingly cover up for a mutant. So, not Warren.

They spend forty-eight hours slinking across rooftops and gathering intel in the cold and snow before finding out that the culprit is Green Goblin. The man is truly insane, but difficult to persecute due to that same insanity. Apparently, he’s gotten tired of his played-out Halloween routine and decided to try for a different holiday. The angel look wasn’t coincidental, either; the Avengers had to work fast to clear the area of gawkers when Goblin flew through again, scattering ‘feathers’ in his wake. Each one that hit could burn an acid hole through two inches of concrete, and the crowd resented being told they couldn’t stay to see the ‘angel.’

Tired and sporting sore hides as well as spirits (it’s rough when the people you’re trying to save won’t stop cursing you and keep trying to mob you), they drift into the Tower and disappear into their quarters. Steve, of course, is the last one in. He’s much too responsible about paperwork and extensive debriefs, not to mention being involved in the villain’s incarceration.

That means that by the time Steve comes home, clean and wearing the spares he keeps at SHIELD quarters, Bucky has been sitting and watching the news for upwards of an hour.

“Can you believe this shit?” he calls as Steve rummages through the fridge for something to eat. Bucky spent the first part of Steve’s life trying to get him to eat more, and now the man can’t eat enough. “After all of that, a bunch a’ kooks are still sayin’ the first ‘angel’ was ‘real.’ Angel my ass.”

“People just want somethin’ to believe in, Buck.” Steve scrubs at his face tiredly and settles on some leftover chicken. He eats it out of the Tupperware, cold. “That ain’t so bad.” No matter how polished he sounds, get Steve Rogers tired enough and Brooklyn seeps through his façade. Bucky likes the reminder that, at the end of the day, Steve is still the same punk he pulled out of a fight when they were thirteen.

Bucky snorts derisively. “Yeah, well, believing in something doesn’t mean you have to be a fool. Some folks’ll believe unicorns are real. Don’t make it true.”

“I know this whole thing was screwed to start, but honestly, Buck, you can’t cut those folks some slack? Angels an’ unicorns ain’t the same thing an’ you know it.”

The brunet looks increasingly irritated. “They’re both myths, they’ve both been faked, and they both sell toys real well. If it quacks like a duck…”

“What’s your problem? In case you forgot, _we_ used to talk about angels bein’ out there. _I_ used to pray that one would look after you when you enlisted! You even—”

“Yeah, well that was _before_ I got turned into a human guinea pig!” Bucky leaps off the sofa and stares Steve down. The blond looks startled and even Bucky is surprised at his own emotions. He hadn’t realized that he felt so strongly, but now that the words are out of his mouth, he can’t stop. “That was _before_ I fell off a fucking train; _before_ I got dragged out and frozen over and over; _before_ I lost everything; _before_ I got reprogrammed into a killing machine; _before_ I soaked my hands in innocent blood!” He’s shouting now. “I went to Hell and back, Stevie, an’ ain’t no angel came for me then, an’ ain’t no angels around _now_ , either! So shut the hell up about it, ‘cause no matter what I used to say back _then_ , I sure as fuck don’t believe in ‘em _now_!”

Bucky can tell he’s glaring daggers and he’s not sure what or who he’s actually upset at. All he knows is that his blood is boiling and his chest is heaving, and he’s not sure if he wants to scream or tear his hair out or both. And Steve… Steve looks _wounded_. Like Bucky kicked his puppy or told him Santa wasn’t real. Hurt fills his eyes while he struggles to maintain his composure. His makeshift meal clatters to the counter. Steve wipes at his mouth and takes a deep breath, hands splayed on the table.

“Okay, then. I… Okay.” He doesn’t look Bucky in the eye and his posture is that of someone defeated but determined not to let it break him. It’s a look Bucky knows well, since it’s one the blond used to wear more often than not, growing up. Steve goes the long way around the table to avoid the brunet and opens the door to the hall.

“What… where are you going?” The words come out short and rough, almost an accusation.

“I’m just gonna get some air. Maybe see where Tony is on the new superhuman restraints.”

Even Tony won’t be awake after the week they’ve had, but Bucky is too angry to refute it. Instead, he just grits his teeth and nods tersely, watching Steve close the door gently behind him.

It takes hours for Bucky to calm down, but fatigue eventually cools his temper, leaving him feeling heavy. Steve still hasn’t returned, so he crawls into bed to wait. He can’t stop thinking about the hurt in Steve’s eyes. He’s always been so empathetic, and Bucky knows the blond blames himself for not at least going back to find Bucky’s body a lifetime and a half ago. But they’ve had that conversation before. Steve _knows_ Bucky doesn’t blame him for that. Maybe he just needs some time to remember it’s not his fault? Bucky has the nagging feeling that’s not it, but nothing else comes to mind. He stays up until he hears the front door open again and practices what he wants to say to Steve in his head, waiting for the other man to join him. Instead, he hears Steve sit heavily on the sofa, breath coming in quiet, ragged gasps.

Bucky stays up all night staring at the ceiling and pretending for both their sakes that he doesn’t hear Steve’s muffled sobs as the blond cries himself to sleep.

*

The next morning, Steve cooks breakfast like nothing happened. Bucky managed to get a few, fretful minutes of rest simply because his body demanded it. They both look drawn, but so long as Steve is pretending then Bucky can too. He musters a smile when Steve sets the table with pancakes and bacon and two entire cartons of orange juice.

“What, no eggs?” Bucky jokes. He’s relieved to see Steve grin cheekily back.

“Way ahead a’ you, pal.” He reaches into the microwave and retrieves a plateful of frittatas, each overflowing with ingredients of every kind. He probably emptied half the fridge on that alone.

“You know me so well.” Bucky winks as he forks some eggs onto his plate. He’s not sure, but he thinks Steve’s expression falters the slightest bit. But when Bucky looks up, Steve is chuckling.

“Yeah.”

*

No matter what Steve says otherwise, everything is _not_ okay. Bucky honestly thought that this… whatever it is… would blow over sooner rather than later. It’s not like Steve to sulk, and he doesn’t seem angry. No, it’s worse than that. When he thinks no one is looking, he walks like he’s trudging through three feet of mud and his shoulders go all pinched and tight. They’re not a team of idiots, so everyone notices the change in Steve eventually. His smiles are too brittle and his voice too tired. Formerly the most (well, second, after Thor) enthusiastic of the lot of them, his eagerness for the holiday has waned despite his forced cheer.

Everyone tries to help in their own way. Tony won’t stop talking; Bruce _won’t_ talk, waiting for Steve’s words to fill the silence, but they never come. Natasha and Clint take turns sparring with Steve until Steve taps out or one of them can’t go on anymore. Thor becomes twice as boisterous and insists that Steve be the one to show him all the little holiday traditions, while Sam tags along to make sure Steve doesn’t get overwhelmed. Even Pepper picks up the vibe when she jets in for a quick visit; she keeps eyeing Steve and frowning, and eventually aggressively plies to blond with tea and pastries. 

Bucky tries too, but even though Steve returns to bed with him the following night, everything feels off. He’s more quiet than usual and his confidence seems shot; even when they’re cuddling, he curls up tight and clutches at Bucky’s shirt like he’s afraid the brunet will push him away. He doesn’t know what to do about it, so he waits. Steve will either say something or get over it. That’s just his way. But Bucky _really_ hopes he’ll say something, because he’s not sure how much more he can take.

*

Christmas edges closer. Steve’s mood is still depressed, even when he smiles and laughs. Fury keeps looking at the rest of the team suspiciously, like maybe this is their fault, and lets Steve off desk duty for a while.

And _still_ , Bucky doesn’t know what he did wrong. He tried to apologize about his outburst and Steve had assured him that everything was fine, but… Well, it obviously wasn’t. Steve had seemed genuinely surprised when Bucky had mentioned his usual guilt about the train incident, so it definitely wasn’t that. But if not that, then what? Can he really be so sore about a stupid argument about unicorns versus angels, of all things? The very thought is ridiculous. And yet.

He takes to stalking Steve. It’s probably seven kinds of creepy of him, but he’s too worried to care. Besides, he figures that he deserves a little slack when worrying about his ninety-year-old supersoldier boyfriend. Bucky does his job well and he’s sure that the blond doesn’t suspect a thing. He’s been caught by Natasha at least once—he can tell by the way she appraises him one night when they’re all in the kitchen attempting to bake bread, of all things. But she doesn’t say anything out loud, which for Natasha is practically a blessing upon his endeavors.

It isn’t until two days before Christmas that he observes anything worth noting.

Steve has a stash for all his presents to the Avengers. Bucky knows where it is, but he’s careful not to look at what’s in it after he figures things out. So when, one day, Steve goes to his little hiding spot and comes back out with a small box in his hands, Bucky almost looks away on instinct. It’s the hitch in Steve’s breath that stops him, and he surveys the scene sharply. Whatever he’s holding is too close to his chest for Bucky to see. He’s seated in a chair, hunching over it protectively, and Bucky just isn’t at the correct angle. Steve stays still for the better part of an hour, breathing deep and fiddling with it occasionally. Finally, he tips his head back to blink tears out of his eyes and packs up the small box to return it to its rightful place. Bucky has to decide if he wants to follow Steve or nose into what he was looking at. With it edging closer to Christmas, Steve might be more on guard here, or even move things at the last minute. Snooping it is, then.

When he’s positive the coast is clear, he pads into the room and opens the wardrobe carefully. All of Steve’s presents are already wrapped and tagged, piled neatly on top of each other. Even the wrapping paper, scissors, and tape have their own places. It takes Bucky a few minutes to sift through and find what he’s looking for. He finally finds it—a small, aged box made of cheap wood. The inside lining has obviously been replaced, and a puff of cotton cushions the contents. Bucky prods at it carefully and produces…

A ring?

It’s too small for either of them, but wide enough to suggest a male recipient. Old and tarnished, Bucky’s best guess would be that it’s made of stainless steel. _Cheap_ stainless steel. It’s nicked and scuffed and obviously well-loved. He turns it over in his hands curiously. Light glints off one dull edge—

— _and Steve is there, all pale skin and soft blue eyes and tousled blond hair. He’s leaning up against Bucky, shoulder braced to the older man’s chest, and Bucky presses his nose to Steve’s hair to drink in the warm scent of him. Sun-soaked afternoons and crisp air, that’s his Stevie. He loves him so much it aches._

_“I love you.”_

_Steve’s eyes crinkle in a laugh, but he’s not laughing at Bucky. He’s laughing because he’s happy, carefree and light enough to float away. Haloed in the honeyed tone of a sunset, Bucky takes in all over again how beautiful Steve is; how lucky Bucky is to have him. He kisses the back of Steve’s knuckles and the blond takes the opportunity to pull him in close and capture his lips._

_What should be a slight weight feels like a pound of bricks in his pocket. He was going to wait, but this is too perfect. Everything in him says to do things now._

_“Hey, Stevie?”_

_“Yeah?” Steve tilts his head up for another kiss and Bucky lets himself be distracted for a few sweet moments._

_No, no, stay on track. Focus. Steve looks disappointed for the kiss to end so soon, but Bucky wraps his arms around the smaller man, pulling him so they’re chest to back and snuggling close. Steve hums in appreciation._

_“I have something for you. I was gonna save it for Christmas, but… I dunno. Now seems like a good time.” He fishes around in his pocket while Steve twists, trying to see what’s going on. Bucky stills him with a kiss to the temple and finally presents his gift:_

_It’s a small thing, really. An inexpensive band in a plain silver color, unassuming in its simplicity. Steve takes it from him and frowns._

_“Won’t this kinda be a dead giveaway? I mean, everyone knows I ain’t even got a dame on my arm, much less one to marry.”_

_Bucky chuckles under his breath and buries his nose in Steve’s hair again. “’S why it’s sized for your first finger, genius. I know it ain’t much, but… I dunno. I guess I just wanted to give you something. We’ll never get hitched, not for real. Hell, you’ll prolly find a dame likes you just fine, raise tons of stubborn little Rogers. But church or not, I figure you should know I’d keep ya if I could. Call it the promise of a promise.”_

_Steve’s face goes pink and his lashes quiver the way they do when he’s about to cry. “I, uh…” He turns it over in his hands and sees the inside of the band for the first time. Tilting it and squinting a little, he mouths the words that Bucky knows are engraved on the inside._

__’For my angel.’ __

_Because he is. He’s Bucky’s angel, always has been and always will be. Bucky could be happy forever just to follow the luminous wisp that is Steve Rogers. No wings or halo are needed. He has the sun gilding his hair and skin translucent and smooth enough to make clouds cry in shame._

_Steve gets choked up to see Bucky’s favorite endearment carved where no one but them can see. He presses the metal back into Bucky’s hand and holds his own out. Cheek against the crown of Steve’s head, Bucky slips the ring onto the blond’s finger._

_It’s perfect._

Bucky almost drops the ring in shock. How had he forgotten? Now that the memory is back, it fits so comfortably in his mind that it’s as though it never left. He can even feel the fine tremors of Steve’s hand as he holds it in his, and the silky press of Steve’s lips on his own.

The ring is much too small for Steve now. Bucky remembers that Steve used to hide it on bracelets or necklaces when he couldn’t have it on his hand. It’s also much too soft to survive any of the abuse Steve takes on a daily basis. Yes, Bucky can remember now that Steve had been so torn about whether or not he should bring it with them when they embarked on their first long mission. He wore it on his dog tags for a while. So why is it hiding here?

When he thinks about it objectively, the answer is easy. Steve is always adamant about not pressing Bucky into more than he can handle—memories, exercise, intel, it doesn’t matter. Steve is careful about testing Bucky’s limits and not pushing his own memories onto the other man. Bucky always appreciated it, but now he has a new perspective on how heartbreaking it must still be for Steve to force himself to stay quiet for Bucky’s sake. The brunet might have taken the sight of the ring, or even the story of it, the wrong way. So Steve had hidden it, no matter what the cost to himself, because that was what _Bucky_ needed. And then, last week, Bucky had metaphorically crushed their symbol in his hands. No wonder Steve has been so depressed.

Bucky puts everything away carefully, erasing all signs of his presence. It’s not that difficult to do—he is, after all, a trained assassin. The hard part will be what comes next.

*

It’s Christmas Eve and Bucky is waiting patiently for Steve to climb into bed. Steve insisted that he wanted to lay out all his gifts at the last minute despite the fact that nothing he can do can possibly surprise more than half the team. He thinks Steve has resigned himself to move on from the situation and might be buying himself more time to edge into acceptance. It just makes Bucky sad that he needs to be away from the brunet to do it.

Steve _does_ slip under the covers eventually. Bucky deliberately warmed their rooms past normal temperature and got into bed in only his shorts—not an uncommon occurrence for two men who hate the cold as much as they do. Since it’s so hot, Steve shucks his shirt and pants as well before he gets in bed. Bucky moves deliberately, telegraphing his movements so Steve doesn’t startle. He reaches out to cup the blond’s jaw, sweeping his thumb across his cheek. Steve turns his face into the touch and accepts Bucky’s kiss with a sigh.

Bucky presses his advantage, rolling to cage Steve between the bed and his arms, pinning the blond’s body with his own while they exchange molten, languid kisses. Bucky has to shift his position a few times to accommodate their growing erections, hissing under his breath when they rub against each other through the thin barrier of fabric. Steve kisses him in earnest now, rolling his hips subconsciously in a way that always drives Bucky a little mad.

With the temperature up so high, it isn’t long before Bucky is helping Steve push away the covers, the blond carding his hands through Bucky’s hair. Bucky moans his approval and plucks at the elastic of Steve’s shorts suggestively. Steve does the work for the both of them, grasping both waistbands to slide them off at the same time. Bucky can feel his cock bounce onto Steve’s with its sudden freedom and can’t help but grind down just to feel the soft, sweet friction again. Steve bites his lip and his brows knit together, hips rutting up to chase the heat of Bucky’s hardness.

Bucky gives it to him, pushing them together firmly and making his lover gasp into his mouth. Braced on his left arm, he brings his other hand to the side of Steve’s face so he can stroke the muscles of his jaw and feel them flex as the blond kisses him hungrily. Bucky gropes across the bed for the lube he stashed close to his pillow. Steve smiles a little into their kiss at Bucky’s readiness, but it’s wiped away the second the brunet slicks up one finger to massage against Steve’s hole.

The blond arcs with a whine, the unexpected sensation jerking his hips up before they grind down, then back up so he can press his erection against Bucky’s, like he can’t make up his mind. Bucky nudges Steve’s legs, urging them farther apart so he can access Steve’s ass more easily. Steve complies, bracing his feet against the mattress shamelessly. Bucky rewards him by sliding in to his second knuckle, thumb pressing gently up Steve’s perineum. The brunet can feel Steve’s precum hot and slick between them. Steve’s body says clearer than words how much he missed Bucky, how much he needs the intimacy right now. It’s wet and ready for him, pressing in all the right places. Even Steve’s hole relaxes quickly, taking two fingers easily and allowing Bucky to work on a third.

Steve has given up on kissing now, rocking his hips back in search of something more fulfilling than Bucky’s fingers, which dance so teasingly around Steve’s prostate without ever touching it. Frustrated whines and groans fill the air and now sweat slicks their skin so they glide smoothly together, Bucky kisses lower, nibbling Steve’s neck and then shoulder so can press their chests together and… 

“ _Ah!_ ” Steve is caught by surprise when Bucky’s already hard nipples catch and press on the blond’s. Bucky moves his free hand to twist and play with them, lavishing attention of the neglected one until both are flushed and rosy. Steve trembles and gasps and writhes under the onslaught, Bucky teasing the peaks of his nipples until they ache with overstimulation. He licks a line back up Steve’s body, blowing a cool trail that pebbles Steve’s skin as he makes his way up.

“Ready, doll?”

God, does Bucky even have to ask? Steve has an idea of what he must look like by now, and he’s pretty certain the answer is ‘debauched.’ Maybe ‘far gone’ or ‘wrecked.’ Those might work too. It’s certainly how he feels. If he could string more than two words together he’d tell his lover exactly that. But then Bucky is smiling at him, so gentle and fiercely protective at the same time, and rocking the flared head of his cock past Steve’s rim, urging it to give way bit by bit, Steve’s body welcoming him in.

Bucky’s start to shake with how glorious it feels to be inside of Steve again. He slams the last two inches home just so he can watch Steve’s expression when the blond slaps against his body to the wet smack of skin on skin. He can tell by Steve’s spasmodic clenching that this won’t last long. Both men have been walking the edge while trying not to let the other one know. There’s such raw emotion in Steve’s whimpers; the simple love of Steve’s deep blue gaze begs Bucky to erase his pain so they can go back to the way things used to be. A world where Bucky didn’t say something that fractured Steve’s heart so that he had to stitch it back together on his own. Throw him into forgetfulness so he doesn’t have to think. And Bucky wants to piece things back together. He can’t take back the things he said, but here is Steve trusting Bucky with his heart again, even though he broke it just three days gone.

It’s so much more than Bucky deserves. He reaches between them to stroke Steve’s cock, slowly at first in contrast to the deep grind of his cock in Steve’s ass.

“Stevie, I love you. You know that, right?”

Steve nods.

“Stevie, baby, I need to hear it,” Bucky pleads. 

Steve always puts him first. He finds his voice and manages breathy, broken words. “Love you too, Buck. I love you. Always you. End of the line. Love you.” 

Bucky’s heart fills to hear those words, fragmented as they are. “You close, Stevie?”

Steve keens when Bucky nips sharply at his neck. When Bucky asks again, Steve whines high in his throat and rolls back against him and, really, that’s all Bucky needs to hear. He pistons his hips and strokes Steve’s cock using every trick he knows.

“I love you, Stevie.” It might not be the dirty-talk heard in porn, but Steve and Bucky have never done things the traditional way. They know each other too well; hearing the words out in the open heightens their senses. Bucky’s name drops from Steve’s lips on every exhale and goes straight to Bucky’s groin, gathering heat there and nursing it until it grows high enough to spill into his heart.

“I love you,” he says again, desperately. He needs to know the blond understands and hopes he hears the ‘I’m sorry’ hidden in his voice.

“ _Buck_.” Steve was always better with words. Even now, with just a single syllable, Bucky can hear the fine layers of meaning: I love you; I forgive you; Please help me; I trust you; You’re perfect. It’s joy and sorrow all wrapped into one, all of it Bucky’s to keep if only he’ll take it.

He can feel Steve’s legs lock around his waist to help pull him that much deeper.

“God, Stevie. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I love you.” Light from their bedside lamp spills honey-gold over Steve’s face. It catches on long lashes and shines on already-golden hair. Bucky doesn’t feel the tears running down his own face. “God, you’re perfect. My angel, my perfect angel.”

Steve’s eyes go wide and he shouts Bucky’s name when his orgasm overtakes him suddenly. If you ask Bucky, there’s nothing closer to heaven than watching Steve Rogers when he comes. His hands fly up to grab Bucky’s shoulders, legs tightening to keep him deep inside. His entire body tenses for long moments, fingers digging into flesh, his chin tipped back and neck bared, before he moans his pleasure, long and high and rough in his throat. Come paints him in stripes, hot and thick and fast, and the expression of surprised rapture on his face slams Bucky into his own orgasm.

Pleasure pulses through his body and concentrates in his heart, leaving the rest of him numb and his soul so full it could burst. And it does, crashing violently through him and catapulting his ecstasy to new levels, until it’s almost an out of body experience, he’s flying so high with the force of it. Because that’s what it’s like to have an angel’s heart in your hands—Steve gives him the ability to fly.

Bucky feels himself sink back into his own skin by degrees, alternating between kissing away Steve’s tears and his seeking mouth, salt tainting Steve’s sweet taste. He murmurs soothing words even as he softens and slides out of his lover’s body.

“Shh. I’ve got you, Stevie. Oh, baby, I’m so sorry I said those things. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Of _course_ I believe in angels, Stevie, of course I do.”

Steve’s sobs gradually quiet and his trembling dies down until Bucky feels comfortable with leaving him for a minute to clean himself hurriedly and fetch some warm cloths. When he returns, Steve is shaking again but otherwise seems well. His eyes are red-rimmed and puffy and his lip won’t stop trembling, but he smiles wanly at Bucky and it isn’t forced; that’s what matters. The brunet takes his time soothing Steve while he cleans them him up, focusing all his attention on his lover.

“You don’t have to say things you don’t mean just to make me feel better, you know.” Steve’s voice is quiet and hoarse from crying.

“I know. And I didn’t. I mean, I guess I don’t believe in people falling from the sky with huge white wings and halos just so they can tell people a bunch of stuff. Well, except Warren. But I believe there can be other kinds of angels. I believe in you, and you’re _my_ angel.”

Steve looks like he wants to cry again. “Buck…”

Like their argument before, Bucky’s voice overrides him. “I thought about it, and it’s true. You’ve always looked out for me, even when I thought I didn’t need it. You’ve always loved me, always tried to protect me. You came for me in Azzano, you tried to follow me after that damn train, even if you thought the best way to do it was to crash an entire plane into the ocean. You found my body when it came to attack you and you didn’t give up on me until you found my soul to match. And I cursed you, I resented you, denied you, but you’re the one absolute truth in my life.

“So I still don’t know if I believe in _angels_ , Stevie, but I believe in _my_ angel. That’s a good start, isn’t it?”

This time Steve smiles when he cries, relieved, happy sobs tearing their way out of his throat. Bucky kisses him again and again, shifting them around until Steve can lie half on top of Bucky, nestled safely in his arms. Bucky murmurs sweet nothings into Steve’s hair and strokes his back, blinking away tears of his own. Even after hurting him so much, Steve forgives Bucky in a heartbeat. He truly is an angel.

When Steve is calm again, breathing even and steady, Bucky tips his head back for a kiss. It’s chaste and sweet and exactly what they need. Steve sighs happily and burrows his face back into the crook of Bucky’s neck. Bucky smiles and his eyes fall on their clock.

00:01

“Merry Christmas, Stevie.”

Steve blinks and cranes his head to see the same thing. At Bucky’s urging, he sits up. “Merry Christmas, Buck.”

Bucky can feel himself getting awkward. Now or never.

“I have something for you. It’s Christmas and… well, now seems like a good time. I know it ain’t much, but… I dunno. I guess I just wanted to give you something.” He sees Steve’s eyes go wide in recognition a moment before Bucky covers the blond’s hand with his, skin-warmed metal pressing between them. Steve’s breath hitches as Bucky pulls his hand away to reveal the broad silver band.

“It’s made out of the same stuff Stark’s been using for my plates,” he explains. “Just some scrap, but… I thought it might mean more. To us. And this way you won’t have to worry about it gettin’ crushed by accident.”

“How did…” 

“I cheated a little,” the brunet admits. “I couldn’t figure out what was wrong, so I shadowed you for a bit. I might’ve seen you take it out. I didn’t know what it was then, but as soon as I saw it everything was just there in my head, like it never left. So I knew how much I really hurt you when we fought. I didn’t mean to break your heart, baby.”

“I know.” Steve looks dazed. “You’d never do that on purpose. I just… It’s a lot. On top of everything else, losing that one thing… I felt like an idiot, getting worked up over it. I didn’t blame you, but it was so hard to let go. I was working on it, though.”

“You don’t have to do that alone ‘cause of me, Stevie. ‘M supposed to be here to help you, same way you always help me. When you’re hurtin’ it hurts me too.”

It takes Steve a few attempts to finally find his voice. “It’s a little small for my first finger, ain’t it?”

Bucky chuckles. “That’s why it’s sized for your ring finger, genius.” Steve turns wide eyes on him as Bucky continues. “I guess we can get married now, if you want. We can raise a family and have tons of Rogers-Barnes’ running everywhere. But I din’t wanna rush you into nothin’, so just call this a promise of a promise. I wanted to let you know I’ll keep you if you’ll let me.”

Steve angles the ring so the light falls on the inner band to find the words inscribed there, where only the two of them need to know they exist.

‘For my angel.’

Steve hands it back for Bucky to slip on his finger.

It’s perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I might be terrible at deadlines, but at least I’m not—Oh.
> 
> I had fun writing and I hope that, no matter what time of year you might be reading this, you enjoyed reading! 
> 
> I always love hearing from people, so please feel free to leave kudos and/or comments! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Editing done! If you see any errors, please feel free to point them out! <3


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